


Run Your Jewels

by 100dabbo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Come Swallowing, Crimes & Criminals, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dinner, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, First Dates, Flirting, Guns, Heist AU, Hostage Situations, Hotel Sex, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rimming, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/pseuds/100dabbo
Summary: The team are choosing their next mark to take as hostage and earn a bountiful sum from, deciding to use the wealthy son of Fischer Morrow's CEO, Robert Fischer Jr., whose attitude to the scenario is less than conventional.
Relationships: Eames/Robert Fischer
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33





	1. Armed and Geared

**Author's Note:**

> Title (and the whole fic basically) inspired by RZA's line on Wu-Tang: 7th Chamber - "You're getting stripped from your garments, boy, run your jewels"  
> Chapter titles are also Wu-Tang lyrics, lines from various Inspectah Deck verses :)

“Not him, he’s too pretty. Pretty boys are always trouble.” Arthur said, gesturing at one of the photos on the table in front of him.

Robert Fischer’s portrait was amongst a catalogue of his wealthy peers, most sons of CEOs like himself and all young and privileged: perfect to use for extorting cash. Though, it was apparent to Arthur that his picture stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest. While all of the men wore snappy suits and had their hair in professional styles, Fischer’s was anything but.

His soft lips were stretched wide with a smile, flashing his pearls as his sapphire eyes gazed into the lens of the camera; clearly contented for some reason. Perhaps it was because of the man whose lap he was perched on had his hand gripped onto his bare thigh. But who was to tell?

Arthur moved his hand over to the photograph, intending to turn it over and discard him as an option for their plan, but Eames piped up,

“Hey! He’s got the highest net worth out of _all_ of these boys! Probably more than some of them combined, I’d imagine…”

Arthur’s hand hovered over it, fingers dancing in contemplation as he heard what he said. He was right, the Fischer dynasty really was one of the wealthiest in the Western world, and Robert’s father was to take credit for that. He put his hand back into his pocket, but Eames continued to convince him anyway,

“He’s Fischer Sr.’s _only_ son. You know what that means? He’s the only one getting that sweet, sweet inheritance once his old man kicks the bucket.” 

His reasoning wasn’t wrong, but still, his father wasn’t dead yet, which left his value the same; whatever the old man would be willing to pay.

“So?” Droned Arthur, impatient to whittle their potential victims down to _at least_ three before they left it for the day. The other man just looked down at the enrapturing photo and resisted a smirk that was itching to curl the side of his mouth up. He took in a deep breath and articulated what he thought ought to have been clear, 

“ _So_ , Arthur, Mr Maurice Fischer of Fischer Morrow will be willing to pay _anything_ for the safe return of his precious little son here...” He smoothed his hand over the glossy photo trailing his fingertips across the edges of his jawline. “So that’ll mean more cash for us and less time delay on the turnover.”

Eames knew that Arthur wasn’t wrong either because he really was _too_ pretty to even exist, never mind to kidnap, and take as hostage and ransoming, but he also knew that he’d made his own perfectly valid point. 

“Well, we’ll see what Cobb has to say. I’m not calling any shots.”

“Speak of the Devil!” Eames grinned as the man himself walked into the room, offering a passive glance at the photographs before giving his attention to the two men,

“Gotten any further in deciding who we’re gonna get tomorrow?”

“I said how Fischer would be best beca—”

“Hold on! Tomorrow?!” Arthur expelled, snapping his eyes onto Cobb.

The three of them all paused, certain there had been some miscommunication between them. Arthur was shocked, Eames was stifling his smile and Cobb was staring at the both of them as if they were idiots. With a slow blink and a sigh, he turned his attention onto Eames,

“You were supposed to tell him.” He said, unimpressed with the innocent smile Eames was wearing.

“Well, _I_ thought the memo was given to everyone!” He argued, gesturing vaguely between them.

“Everyone? _Everyone_?!” Cobb scolded, “ _There’s only four of us on this job!_ ”

“Yeah, where is Yusuf, I thought I saw hi—”

“ _Eames!_ ” Arthur hissed, his mouth agape and hands flailing with stress, “ _How_ did you expect me to be ready for tomorrow?!”

“In all fairness, Arthur, all you do is point a gun at someone and threaten them a bit. _I’m_ the one with the people skills who has to deal with the hostage.” He actually laughed then, looking back at Cobb, “We’re getting Robert Fischer, son of Fischer Morrow’s CEO. We’ll be able to get a good quarter of a million at least, yeah?”

“Yeah, that it is if you don’t fuck it up.” Arthur mumbled, swiping Robert’s photo and file off of the table, “I’ll tell Yusuf- Unless he ready knows too.” Then he walked away, leaving Eames with Cobb, whose stare was still burning into him.

“He’s right.” He said, “Don’t fuck it up.”

Robert Fischer was in his hired car when the ambushed happened.

It was late in the evening, dusk approaching on the horizon as the car left the city to merge onto the deserted highway, and as he calmly applied the lip gloss to his mouth and gazed out of the window, the bright, twinkling lights becoming distant behind him, the black van that had been driving in front of them came to a halt on the road.

The driver floored the breaks a little too quickly, almost pre-emptively, as though he knew it was going to happen.

Caught by the seatbelt across his lap, Robert jolted forward and peered his eyes over to the half-closed partition. The van stayed still, as did his own driver. He sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes, flopping back into his seat.

“Drive on. They’re probably just idiots.” He commanded, crossing his legs and sighing with impatience. It wasn’t like he had anywhere important to be, he was only on his way home, but the degenerates of the city weren’t estranged to playing around on the empty roads as night advanced on them, and so carrying with him the assumption that the people inside that van would be just that, he repeated his charge, “Hello? I said drive on!”

But the driver remained silent, slowly raising his hands away from the wheel, opening his palms to have them either side of his head.

“I’m sorry, Mr Fischer… Stay calm, put your hands up and do everything they say…” The driver whispered gazing out of the windshield.

“What?” Robert asked, peering over again to look outside. 

His heart sank, his eyes opening wide with shock as a deep breath drew itself into his lungs.

Three men, clad in black with their heads covered in woollen balaclavas had stepped out of the van, each brandishing their own firearm while they approached the car. 

His first thought was to reach for his phone, scrambling over his seat to find his purse in the back seat, and whether it was to call 911 or even his father was irrelevant, because he wasn’t fast enough anyway.

Both car doors either side of him opened up, and while one of the men had his gun strained on the driver, those that flanked him were blocking his escape, holding their guns steadily by their sides.

“Stay nice and clam, Mr Fischer, and we won’t have any problems,” One of them said, his accent mellow and British, yet still assertive, “Get in the van.”

He didn’t move and inch, staring into the man’s eyes, trying to ignore the gun.

“What kind of problems?” Robert whispered, hiding shakes in his breath by filling the tense air with words.

“I’m sure you don’t wanna find out, pretty boy.” The man on the other side said, his voice not unfamiliar to the Americans he’d be with every day.

The next action happened in a flash, the second man’s patience reaching its limit as he lunged forward to make a grab for him, grunting as Robert evaded his grip and tried to dive for the back seat out of instinct, the first man fast enough to clutch onto his ankle in the fruitless struggle.

He kicked his legs, whimpering while he tried to shake him off, but the iron grip remained, the strong arm that it was attached to pulling him back with a forceful yank, leaving him face down across the seats, his eyes staring up at the American until his head whipped around view to his main assailant.

Regret rushed into his mind as he was flooded with the memories of every single instance he’d refused a self defence course at his father’s behest, thinking he’d never be as unfortunate to be in such a situation that required it.

The strong hands returned to him, grasping onto his little waist, the gun having been tucked back into the man’s belt. He pulled him out of the car with little effort, Robert’s fingernails clawing at the soft leather seats in an attempt to stay inside.

The gunman whose weapon was still aimed on the driver finally spoke,

“Get the gag on him, throw him in the back seat.”

“Please! I did what you asked, don’t hurt me! Just take him!” The driver stammered as Robert was dragged out, hands shaking either side of his head. The gunman only reached into his pocket and thew him a thick roll of twenties, surmounting to around five thousand dollars.

“Don’t spend it all at once.”

And they all lowered their guns, making their way back to their own vehicle to shove Robert in the back.

Arthur sat beside Eames in the van, looking down at the whimpering Mr Fischer on the floor of the van, cloth gag pulled taught between his lips and arms held back with the binds holding his wrists together. Only his glassy, pleading blue eyes looked up at them both, desperate and scared.

“Why didn’t you get him a blindfold?” Eames whispered to the man beside him, his hand resting on the gun at his belt.

“Jesus, Ea- _Echo_ , I thought we had another day to prepare so apologies for the shoddy workmanship of it all. He’s here, isn’t he?!” Arthur retorted, unintentionally using his gun to gesture toward Robert, making him expel another muffled wail into the cloth gag. He realised his mistake and lowered the weapon. It wasn’t out of pity though, but just because the more he would do it, the less impact it’d have on him in the coming hours.

“I thought _Charlie_ told everyone,” Eames couldn’t help but chuckle at their phonetic code names, “Why don’t you complain to _Yankee_ about it?”

“Shut up,” Cobb said, turning around in the passenger seat to look into the back and down at Robert, “Just use something to cover his eyes, we’re nearly there.”

Eames smiled coyly, though it couldn’t be seen though his ski mask, and took the spare gag from his pocket to kneel down to fix it over Robert’s face.

The man was scared, of course, because who wouldn’t be after being abducted by four anonymous men, but he was certainly less vocal than the hostages they’d taken in the past.

His watery eyes stared back at him until the cloth was draped over them, his head lifted up to tie it as tight as the cloth in his mouth, leaving him in the dark as the van drove on towards its destination.

Yusuf eventually pulled into the place they were going to be holding him at: a run down and neglected motel with uncaring staff and very few patrons. 

While a warehouse or an abandoned parking garage would suffice for such kidnappings, a place that only ran them fifty dollars per room would do just fine too, not to mention its convenient location just on the outskirts on the city, proving to be a beneficial location for the exchange if things went well, and getaways if they went south.

The van halted and Cobb was the first to get out, opening up the back of the van to help the other men carry Fischer out. His legs weren’t bound, though his previous display of kicking suggested he’d need a bit of taming to shove him into the room.

Eames lifted him by one arm while Arthur took the other, Cobb clasping to both ankles tightly to stop the wriggling legs from opening or thrashing their way out of his hold, and as soon as Yusuf opened up the door to room number eleven, he was carried through, thrown onto the bed with the door shut behind them. 

He whined again, pushing his head against the mattress to try and get the bindings off of his face, another fruitless attempt on his part which only resulted in him falling off the bed.

“If you wanted to be on the floor, Fischer, you should’ve just said!” Eames laughed as he watched him wriggle, hands behind his back and head angling upwards to chase the direction of his voice.

Cobb shoved him, clearly pissed off despite how smooth it all took place, and he pulled Yusuf outside to call the man’s father at his office with their drop phone, to notify him of the kidnapping, and more importantly of their demands.

That left Arthur, Eames, and Robert in the dim room together, the only light being the fluorescent orange of the parking lot lights slicing their way through the gaps in the blinds, covering Fischer with stripes of shadow on the floor.

He let out a muffled cry, not a scream, but an attempt at words, his jaw clearly moving to try and enunciate something. Eames moved forward, going ahead to taunt him more, but Arthur got to him first,

“What? The pretty boy got something to say?”

The man on the floor moaned and nodded his head feebly.

“You better not scream, although it’s not like anyone would hear you besides us.” Eames said as he knelt down, pulling him up onto his knees while he loosened both the gag and the blindfold, letting the saliva-soaked cloth hanging around his neck.

The man swallowed, his wide eyes scanning the room around him, looking towards the same two men who’d surrounded both sides of the car. He exhaled and blinked, not yet making a noise, then shifted on his knees, biting his bottom lip before saying,

“What are you going to do with me?”

“If your Daddy pays up, nothing.” Eames replied, slowly raising a hand to his jaw as he had done to his photograph just twenty-four hours prior, “And if he doesn’t, well…” He trailed off as Robert keened into the touch, resting himself into that warm palm as he spoke up,

“Well I can tell you now, my father doesn’t care about me. You’re not gonna be seeing a dime, even if you let me go right now.” 

His voice was soft and relaxed, something in Eames’ petting that calmed him, and the shaking breath had stopped, as had the fidgeting of his legs beneath him. Still, the words he spoke were still not what either of his captors were wanting to hear, and Eames withdrew his hand to stand back beside Arthur while the door opened again, Yusuf re-entering.

“The office isn’t responding. He’s not there,” He said, resting his forehead against the wall in frustration, “We probably won’t hear a word back for hours.”

Robert’s eyes closed shut and he sighed, not from fear of being mistreated due to his father’s neglect, but because he knew the exact reason why he wasn’t responding. He was at the Sydney office and probably either still asleep, still on the flight over there or both. In fact, while gagged and blindfolded, he thought that was the reasoning for the abduction, considering how no one at home would be expecting his return.

He watched the men sigh and groan and take their seats to lament about their own misfortune.

“I’m going into room twelve with Cobb to stay with the drop phone, you two stay in here with him and make sure he doesn’t make any noise.” Yusuf instructed with a frustrated groan, leaving the room a second later to meet with the man Robert could now decipher as “ _Charlie_ ”.

Silence returned to the air, only the quiet soar of cars on the distant highway audible from outside of the room.

He knew that even if these men were going to stick it out and wait for his father’s reply, what he said to Eames still stood as fact: He wasn’t going to give these men a dollar, considering how much Robert had been insured against kidnapping for, and it’d be better to let them do whatever they wanted to him to be able to cash out a decent sum at the end of it all. 

So, that meant that Robert had to do something else to ensure his safety for the next few hours.

“Listen, gentlemen, I know you’re looking for cash, and seeing how you seem to know everything about me, I’m assuming you’re wanting a lot of it,” He said calmly, looking directly into Eames’ eyes, shadowed by the balaclava, “But like I said, even if he replies, even if you do get a hold of him, you’re getting nothing.”

Arthur stood up at that point, reaching his hand to rest on his gun, not yet pulling it out.

“Shut you’re pretty little mouth, Fischer, or that gag is going right back where it belongs.”

Robert batted his eyes lashes and grinned, arching his back slightly,

“That’s the third time you’ve called me pretty,” He bit his lip, more sensually than the timid action of before, “You have something you wanna say to me?”

“It’s the fourth time, actually…” Eames mumbled, now glad that his cheeky smile couldn’t be seen by either of them. Arthur still whipped his head around in disapproval, knowing this little discussion they were having was all Robert’s attempt to undermine their authority over him. “Y’know, because of last night too…”

Arthur was going to talk back, tell him to shut up or he’d be gagged too, but then Robert stole their attention once more,

“So, gentlemen, what I wanted to say was that there’s something else, other than capital, that I’d be willing to trade for my freedom…”

With a sentence like that, it would be hard for him not to be the centre of both men’s worlds. He smirked and gave the two of them a once over with his big blue eyes, glinting in the darkness.

“God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?” Arthur breathed, exasperated and angry, yet his eyes were still unable to move away from him.

All it did was make Robert’s head tilt to the side and smile wider, his messed-up hair flopping over his forehead.

“Listen, Fischer,” Eames purred, stepping forward to force his neck to crane up, “All we’re asking for is that you stay quiet until your father calls back. Is that really so hard?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Fischer whispered back, eyes level with his crotch, “Will it be hard?” And he finished with a flutter of his eyelashes as he looked down to stare directly at it.

If what he just said wasn’t going to get Eames to stiffen, his innocent (yet sensual) attitude certainly would. He brushed it off with a laugh and sat on the bed, glancing towards Arthur who was already shaking his head, half in refusal to acknowledge how transgressive this hostage was to their authority, and half in disgust at himself that he was loving the performance of each coquettish little smile that he put on.

He wanted to tell him to shut up again, even instruct Eames to replace the gag, but he wasn’t sure that’d do much good either. But, it would have been a better option that hearing what Robert suggested next.

“So, what do you say, fellas? There’s two of you and one of me… Are you the types to take turns, or would you both want to play with me at the same time?”

His nonchalance was what grew Eames’ smile, the fact that he’d gotten over the fact that there were two armed men right in front of him who were holding him against his will in a motel room and that he was now searching for a fuck (or two) to get him out of it.

However, Arthur was less amused, the lust bubbling in his loins more of an irritant than a pleasure. He considered himself above Eames for that reason, noticing how the man perched on the edge of the bed with eyes locked onto their hostage already had an unignorable tent in his trousers.

“For fuck’s sake, Eames! Gag him!” He hissed, not even noticing the slip of his tongue, much like Yusuf had done minutes earlier, and he gestured towards the man on his knees with impatience. 

Why he didn’t just do it himself, Eames couldn’t tell, but he couldn’t really blame him; maybe if they even so much as touched him they’d lose control of themselves, take the mouth that was offering itself and ruin the whole plan.

Needless to say, it was for that reason that Eames didn’t move a cunt hair from where he was sitting, so utterly frozen in his place, not risking to look away for a second as he savoured the beauty before his eyes.

_Too pretty to even exist._

Robert parted his mouth then, and extended his tongue out, lapping it against his lips and curling the tip to make the deliciously wet noises audible in the silence between the three of them.

“That depends,” Eames murmured, “Is it worth a quarter of a million dollars?”

Eames already knew the answer to that question would be an undoubted _yes_ , picturing those lips slobbering around his cock with diligence, those glazed eyes looking up while he sucked the life out of him. It was undeniable that the son of Fischer Morrow’s CEO had somewhat of a reputation, and it wouldn’t be unheard of to think that that had an influence on Eames’ selection of their target.

“Eames! What the fuck!” Arthur growled, still keeping his voice low to avoid gaining the attention of their other partners on the other side of the paper-thin motel walls, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

To Eames’ disappointment, Robert’s eyes slid away to look up at Arthur, using his same sensual stare, 

“What’s the matter? Can’t share?”

Arthur slapped him for that, flicking his wrist to land a harsh smack of his gloved palm across his cheek, staining it a bright red. Robert laughed, moaned even, as he recovered from the stinging pain in his face with the bite of his lip.

Eames shook his head at him, not doing anything to interfere as Arthur left the room, saying,

“You can deal with the little bitch if you want, I’m going to room twelve.”

The door clicked shut and Robert just drifted his gaze back into Eames’ eyes.

“It’s just the two of us, sir, have you made your mind up?”

He had indeed, moving his hands to his zipper, pulling it down to palm at his length through his underwear.

“I intend to _deal_ with you, yes.”

Robert couldn’t help but let his eyes fall onto Eames’ crotch while his cock was pulled out, so rock hard that that even in the faint light, he could see the veins bulge beneath the skin. 

Eames stood from the bed, pinching the man’s soft cheeks between his thumb and forefinger to let his lips open wide. Just stroking himself at the sight of that pretty face could get him off in no time, but when that mouth had been offered to him, it’d be more than rude to not oblige.

He dropped the heavy tip onto his curled-up tongue, moaning as it slipped into the warm chamber of his mouth and slid between his cheeks, moaning quietly while it was taken in without a struggle. The lips closed around him and hummed, a sweet offer of gratitude at it went into his throat with ease.

It was a pleasure, more than a pleasure really; something more divine than Eames could have even fantasized about, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be rough with him or talk down with filth.

“Start moving, slut.” He commanded, and as expected, Robert began to bob his head back and forth, smoothly gliding his lips from the base to the tip, each pass just a little bit of heaven that was given to him, accompanied by bright eyes that looked up to seek his approval. He had to admit, it was amazing to look down at, but it was still hard to discern with the ski mask covering his face.

Between his own hot breaths and the eye holes blocking his vision ever so slightly, he had half a mind to take it off and let him see his face for the anonymity be discarded. He supposed he already knew his name, and the rarity of it in the US certainly wouldn’t have been doing him any favours if he really wanted his identity to be kept a secret.

“Fuck it.” He breathed as he pulled it off of his head, flinging it onto the bed beside him as he smoothed out his hair, looking down at the contented man on his knees. The glint in his eyes was just like the photo; pleased and satisfied, and it was clear he was happy with what he saw.

Sucking a cock would undoubtedly always make Robert Fischer happy, but sucking the cock of a handsome man made it all the better.

He hummed around him again, managing to get him deeper down his throat with every push, eventually taking him whole to shove his nose into the wiry bush of pubic hair grown at his base. And, ever determined to please, he kept himself there, deepthroating him to let his salvia collect in the back of his mouth, the addition of his pressured cheeks pure bliss that coaxed Eames closer to his finish.

“Fuck, just like that…” He breathed, sliding his hand onto the back of his neck to keep him there, as if he had the option to escape anyway, “You want to swallow it, hm? You want to be my good little bitch and take it all down for me?”

Robert nodded around him, and the moment he moved was the moment Eames pulled his hips back and snapped them forward to fuck into his mouth with a sharp thrust, shoving himself as deep as possible as he began a rhythm, clutching onto Robert’s hair to drag his lips in sync with it. 

His saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth as it was used, each drive a force that dragged across his tongue and through his cheeks for it the leak out, forming a string that dripped onto the carpet below as it ran down his chin.

It was hot and wet, and the innocent look in his eyes didn’t help Eames’ effort to hold on at all, meaning that it was just a second later that he was emptying himself inside his throat with a groan, Robert taking it all down with a dutiful swallow, ensuring his tongue cleaned his cock as he pulled himself off of it.

The two of them panted for some time, Eames stroking the short hairs on the back of Robert’s head, smiling in appreciation. He sat back onto the bed, bringing his hands to re-fasten his trousers, but then he realised he wasn’t softening at all.

Robert was still looking at it, licking his lips to savour his taste. He was wriggling his arms and flexing his hands in the binds through frustration of not being able to touch it or hold it or feel it anymore. He was truly insatiable, and Eames saw that in those wide eyes.

“Daddy…” He whispered, entirely focused on it as if it were a fascinating or precious artefact, shifting his legs and rocking his hips, “ _Daddy…_ ” He repeated it again, more needy and lustful with a moan to himself. That did absolutely _zero_ help in getting Eames to go back down, but that wasn’t to say he was complaining. 

He looked down at him, and it was then that he realised how hard _he_ had been the whole time. His position wasn’t particularly ideal to hide that sort of thing, those little shorts showing the defining curve of the erection pressed into his stomach, moving ever so slightly as he thrusted to catch some friction against his tight clothes. 

Eames grabbed back onto his cock as he watched; the perfectly needy display right before his eyes of a man who’d gotten a hard-on from sucking him off and was desperately trying to come.

“Mm, fuck me, Daddy…” He groaned to himself, blinking his eyes shut as he continued, feeling a wet patch of pre-come start to soak into his underwear. 

After one more whimper and one more ‘Daddy’, Eames spoke up,

“You want to get fucked, hm?”

The other man nodded, eagerly as ever, and sucked on his bottom lip, controlling his breathing by taking in short little breaths through his nose. “Stand up.” Eames commanded, clasping to his waist as soon as he was in front of him, tugging down his shorts and underwear to reveal his little cock.

He gave it a fleeting pass with his hand, Robert shivering in his grip at the sensation. He was pulled onto Eames’ lap with haste, the tip of his still-hard cock pressed against his tight rim; just within reach.

“Are you gonna fuck me, Daddy?” Robert repeated for good measure, the arms behind his back growing tired from their strain, and he moaned before Eames even replied.

“No,” He said, receiving those pleading, desperate eyes again until he clarified, “Because you’re going to fuck yourself on my cock like a good boy, aren’t you?”

Robert whimpered and nodded, taking no further hesitation before sinking himself down onto Eames’ length, still slightly slicked from his own saliva, and as the whole thing was immersed, he buried his face into the other man’s neck, quietly moaning with his hips rocking into him.

If any of the other three were to walk in at that moment, Eames would have no idea how to handle it. With Robert’s back to the door and his own head barely poking over his shoulder, the explanation required would be lengthy to say the least. And for that reason, he wanted Robert to hurry up.

He brought his hand up, slapping his arse with a warning strike and said, “Hurry up, Bobby, Daddy’s getting impatient.”

And Robert took no more pauses, trusting the grip of Eames’ hands that planted themselves at his waist to start grinding his hips up and down. He moaned more and more, ensuring his volume was loud enough for Eames to enjoy, but quiet enough so it wouldn’t be heard through the wall, beginning a quick bounce on his lap that had his cock slipping in and out with ease, its tip rubbing against his sweet spot on every other pass.

Eames thought it was brilliant, better than his mouth even, that tight hole gripping hard and sliding up and down with a smooth rhythm that had him ready to spill again after just two minutes, but he wasn’t going to finish without seeing that little prick of his make its release.

He slapped him again, a little harsher, to say, “You make Daddy so proud, you’re a good little bitch for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Robert squealed out, leaning closer, rubbing his cock against Eames’ stomach with little upward thrusts that synchronised with his rocking, and with the other man’s eyes keenly watching that leaking slit, he came across his stomach, whimpering and groaning as he kept up his bounces, thighs burning with the strain. “Come inside me, Daddy, I want to feel it!” 

Eames hadn’t orgasmed twice with anyone before, let alone within the space of ten minutes, so when it finally washed over him and he pumped his release inside of the man who was supposed to be his hostage for the night, he welcomed the pleasure, coming yet again with curses through his hot breaths.

He lifted Robert off of him and placed him on the bed after a second, picking his shorts up from the floor and slipping them back onto his legs without even thinking to clean him up. 

Robert shifted onto his knees again, finding it more comfortable than laying down with his hands behind his back, and he sighed, heavy eyes gazing at the other man.

“I don’t even care if you let me go or not anymore, I think I could die happy right now…” He giggled, not even talking his own mortality seriously, even after all he’d been through in the past hour.

Eames finally tucked himself away and stood from the bed to look at him with a smile, opening his mouth to say something, when the door opened behind him, forcing them both to snap their attention to the man in the doorway.

It was Cobb, the drop phone in his hand.

Even with the ski mask obscuring his face, his eyes still turned to fury as he noticed Eames without his own on. He had said _one_ thing last night that he hoped he would listen to.

_Don’t fuck it up._

Regardless of him, though, was the fact that they’d finally managed to reach Robert’s father on the phone, who wanted to hear his son’s voice before they even discussed money.

So, swiping the balaclava off the bed and pulling it back over his face, Eames stepped out of the way as Cobb approached Fischer, still dick-dazed and grinning as the phone was held up to his ear.

“Tell him you’re safe and alive, or whatever.” Cobb commanded, eager to get it done.

“Hello, is this my Daddy?” Robert giggled down the line, flicking his eyes over to Eames, whose flushed cheeks would have been on full display if not for his mask.

“Yes, it’s your father, Robert, are you safe?” Maurice said down the phone, not particularly urgent or stressed.

“I need to be rescued, Daddy! Send someone to save me!” He laughed, “Give them their money, give them whatever they want! Please!”

Cobb brought the phone away from his ear, rolling his eyes, and continued their conversation to discuss the logistics of the hand over, the amount and what time it should occur, then he hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket.

“What the fuck, Eames!” He shouted, ignoring the fact that Robert was even still there.

It seemed like everyone was using his name in the open now.

“What? You asked me to watch him, I watched him!”

“The fuck is wrong with him? Is he drugged? Why is he laughing like an idiot?!”

Arthur and Yusuf walked in at the commotion, looking at their hostage on the bed who was moaning to himself and quietly laughing, eyes glued to Eames. The former knew _exactly_ what the fuck was wrong with him, glaring at Eames too while shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter, when’s the hand over?” Eames said, looking back at Cobb.

“Thirty minutes. They’re dropping it on the highway and taking Robert from here. We should leave in about twenty.”

“Well, that’s pretty fast!” He cheered, slipping his hands into his pockets casually, his body still humming with his afterglow.

“Yeah, it’s not the only thing, I bet.” Arthur bit, shooting his glare back onto Robert, his eyes closed and teeth sucking at his bottom lip.

“Can we just get back in the van, please? We don’t need any more of our DNA left at the scene.” Yusuf said, gesturing out of the door which made Robert erupt into laughter once more,

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about _any_ DNA being left behind, sir, none at _all_!”

Arthur gave Eames another disapproving look before following Yusuf and Cobb out of the room, hopping into the van to wait out the drop time.

“Well then, Robert, it seems we’ve both gotten what we wanted, then.” Eames said, still grinning widely despite Robert having no view of his mouth.

“That’s right, Mr Eames, and I’m sure you have my phone number in your records, so don’t hesitate to call me…” He replied, arching his back into his kneel one last time before Eames left the room too, sitting himself into the van beside Arthur.

The team sat in silence for some time, the lack of transparency between them causing a tension that suspended itself in the air. No one said anything, everyone coming to their own conclusions about what the hell was wrong with him, all besides Eames who was the only one who knew the truth. Still, out of mutual respect for one another’s private business (even if this was technically at ‘work’), they kept their mouths shut.

Twenty minutes later, they drew out of the dark motel parking lot and back onto the highway, Cobb collecting the cash where it was said to have been dropped to dump it in the back with Eames and Arthur, instructing them to check it before leaving.

Eames was the one who unzipped it, pulling the sides of the hefty leather duffel to open and reveal the stacks upon stacks of green, one-hundred-dollar bills, all of them bound neatly in even bundles at twenty grand a piece. 

So, there it was, right before his eyes. A quarter of a million in cash with three people around him to share it with.

He grinned and zipped it back up, sitting in his seat and strapping the belt across his chest.

“It’s all there, drive on.”


	2. Well, I'm a Sire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty four hours after kidnapping him and holding him hostage, Eames invites Robert Fischer to a date.

“That’s right, Mr Eames, and I’m sure you have my phone number in your records, so don’t hesitate to call me…”

Those were the last words Robert said to Eames before the man left the room, and he couldn’t even see his smile one last time before he stepped over the threshold to join his gang in their van. He didn’t even bother to close the door after himself.

It was funny, almost, that just twenty or so minutes prior, that same man was pulling him down by his hips to bounce on his cock and was now, with his priorities back on track, off to collect the money in exchange for his release.

Though, he hadn’t actually been fully released. Not yet at least. 

His hands were still tightly bound behind his back, as they had been since the moment he was shoved into the back of their van, with cloth pulled taught, viciously digging into his wrists. It was painful and restricting, a feeling that’d cause claustrophobia and discomfort for anyone else, but Robert had to admit that they had in fact aided in his arousal throughout the whole ordeal.

Perched on his knees, sitting back against the limp pillows on the motel mattress, its springs creaking with every subtle shift, he watched through his heavy eyelashes as the van pulled out of the parking lot, leaving him there to wait on his own for collection.

Even in his dick-dazed state, he still understood what Cobb had said to the other men, that his collectors would be arriving ten minutes later. All he could do was wait and feel Eames’ warm spend drip from his hole, sure of the fact that it’d be soaking through his shorts, a real shame considering he’d only just bought them. But it wasn’t like he couldn’t just buy more. 

His father’s wealth was perfectly exemplified by his willingness to just give away a quarter of a million dollars to Robert’s captors just now. It hadn’t only shocked _them_ at how fast the change-over occurred, but also Robert himself, who had been so certain that his father held him in such permanent distaste, that he wouldn’t give a shit if he was safe or not, especially since he was out of the country.

And yet, just as promised, within ten minutes, two men did indeed arrive at room eleven to ‘save’ him and ‘rescue’ him. They were the live-in security guards to Fischer’s home, having been hired by his father when he’d first moved in, making each of them all _well_ acquainted with Fischer and his regular activities.

Mr Peter Williams, the man who took the day shift, and Mr Luca Scott, the man who worked the night shift, had both been notified at the hour of Robert’s kidnapping, the man’s phlegmatic father having been extremely inconvenienced as he called on them to organise both the drop of the ransom money, as well as his son’s pick-up from the location told by the captors.

Neither of them had even bothered to notify the motel staff of the crime that had occurred on their premises, since it was more probable that they would either already knew about the types that would rent rooms there or they would be powerless to do anything about it. Or both.

They stepped into the room, briefly looking around at the bare surroundings, dark with shadows now that that sun had fully set beneath the horizon.

“Mr Fischer, is everything alright? Can you hear me?” Scott said, approaching to untie his binds.

Robert blinked at him, hearing the soft British accent to his voice, almost similar to Eames’, and then he smiled as he focused his eyes to recognise him as one of his guards, his signature toothpick held between his fingers to allow him to talk. Though, instead of being his welcoming self when he would stand at the entrance to the house, his eyes expressed true concern, his hands gesturing eagerly to reach his bound wrists to free them.

“Yes, sir.” Robert replied, batting his eyelashes in the same flirtatious way as towards Eames at the beginning of the kidnapping. He groaned as he shifted forward to give the man access to his wrists, arching his back to lean closer to him, “They didn’t lay a _finger_ on me, I was completely safe the entire time…”

“Are you sure, sir?” Williams chimed in, attempting to dissipate the strange energy that Robert was putting between them all with his purposefully sensual voice. 

Robert’s quick glance towards him stole his attention away from Scott while the man replaced the pick between his lips and removed the cloth from his wrists, finally releasing them to let his body relax. When his freedom was finally returned to him, he immediately decided to lean himself into Scott’s arms, sighing while he rubbed his raw wrists, the red burn from the cloth marks lingering on his skin.

“Your father informed us you were quite panicked on the phone…” Williams continued, looking at him closely to inspect his expressions as he relaxed into his security guard, resting his head on the man’s chest, “Are your lips swollen, Mr Fischer? Did they knock you out?”

With a languorous swipe of his tongue, Robert licked at his top lip,

“I don’t think so, sir… Why, did they catch your attention?”

“Jesus, were you drugged or something?!” Scott exclaimed, both guards looking at each other with equal amounts of confusion and concern in their eyes, the cause of Robert’s behaviour obviously eluding them, no one knowing why but Robert and his very own captor. He rested his hand on Fischer’s head, gently stroking his hair to calm him down from whatever mood he was in, and looked back at him as he opened his mouth to speak,

“Will you take me home, Mr Scott?” He angled his head up to look straight at the man, subtly biting his lips, his eyes glinting at him in the darkness.

The two guards were almost in disbelief at his attitude, considering what he’d just been through. Still, he kept his composure, not wanting to worry him,

“Of course, Mr Fischer, we’ll get you home…” He replied, giving his hair one last gentle pass before he carefully lifted him up from the bed, letting him clutch onto his shoulders as he was carried out of the room and all the way to their car. 

Williams opened the door for the other man to place him in the back seat, but as he tried to let go of him to keep him in the back while he and Williams rode in the front, Robert’s persistent grip stayed on the lapels of his jacket. Sighing with one last futile attempt to make him relent before he surrendered and climbed in the back with him, Scott nodded to the other guard to get in the front and drive them back to the house. 

Allowing for Robert to curl up to him like that was strictly unprofessional, but he was a man, and a sympathetic man at that, so to have his head buried in his chest like that for his own comfort didn’t make him a bad guard. Both he and Robert knew they had a past, working for _that_ long in that house when his father was away from _such_ long periods of time basically made that inevitable. But it hadn’t happened for a while.

“You’ll have to tuck me in tonight, Mr Scott, I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep too well…” Robert whispered to him, slipping his hand across his waist to hold him tighter.

The man cleared his throat and took the toothpick from his mouth, quelling the pang of arousal that shot through his veins at the touch in favour of completing the job that the man’s father had prescribed,

“I- _We_ are going to make sure you get home safe, Mr Fischer,” He said, realising just how close he was to his chest would allow him to hear the quick pace of his heartbeat, “And I’ve told you, there’s no need for formal titles.”

Robert shook his head against his chest which only made his face bury closer to him,

“I know you like it, Mr Scott. And I know you like _me_ more than you like your wife…”

His hand moved south, sliding over to the inside of the man’s thigh, intending to make its destination his crotch.

The two of them were being quiet, but their lack of noise was just as much cause for attention than if they were being loud, and so it wasn’t a surprise to see Mr Williams’ eyes peer at them in the rear-view mirror. And as much as Scott wanted that hand to continue its path, he had to speak up,

“R- _Mr Fischer_ , this is inappropriate, you’re not being yourself.”

He was right in that it was inappropriate - they were in a car with another man after all - but he was wrong by saying he wasn’t himself. Robert had just been fucked, another man’s spend dripping out of him at that very moment, and yet still, he wanted more. He was just lucky that Mr Scott was such a loyal employee of his father, who’d so often be willing to ‘guard’ his room at night. 

Still, he shifted his hand away and back onto his waist, grinning,

“Of course, Mr Scott, I understand…”

Silence returned to the car, the only sounds being the low rumble of the tires on the road and the occasional soar of other cars passing their own, and so after a clearing of his throat, Williams spoke up,

“We found your driver, Mr Fischer, the one who gave you away to those thugs.”

Robert listened, but didn’t lift his head up to pay him any attention, instead opting to hug Mr Scott even tighter. “We tracked your phone, found him on the highway in no time. Your purse is in the back there with you.”

“So you have my phone?” Robert asked eagerly, his grin stretching wider as he realised that there would be a potential for Eames to contact him once more.

“Yes, Mr Fischer, it was completely untouched.” He confirmed, flicking his eyes back up to the rear-view mirror to notice him and his hold on the pleasantly relaxed Mr Scott. The man sighed, blessed with the brilliant news, and asked with his gleeful tone,

“And what did you do with him?”

“We dealt with him, Robert, there’s no need to worry.” Scott answered, returning his hand to the man’s hair, gently soothing him for the rest of the drive to the house.

The gang arrived back at the safehouse in no time, Eames immediately dumping the bag of cash on the table to start divvying up each man’s share.

“That’s sixty-k each, Eames.” Cobb said as he shirked off his jacket, flinging it on the chair at the head of the table, leaning over it with both hands as he watched him take each stack out.

“Now, I’m no mathematician, right,” Eames began with a smirk, picking up one wad to flitter through the cash, giving it a light sniff as the air picked up the scent, “But shouldn’t that be sixty-k _and_ five-hundred?”

“We’re each setting five-hundred aside for work on the next mark. You didn’t listen to Cobb in the van?” Arthur said, a bitterness in his voice that made even Yusuf turn around to look at the two of them.

Eames slowly lowered the money in his hand, placing it back on the table with careful release, his fingertips lingering on the surface until he returned his hand to his pocket. His gaze was deadlocked with Arthur’s, the man’s eyes brewing with anger, his signature method to express loathing with his furrowed brows. The other two men watched as Eames drew in a deep breath.

“No, Arthur, I didn’t catch that one, my apologies.” Eames said back at him, remaining calm while Arthur shook his head.

“Your mind was somewhere else, was it?”

“As a matter of fact, it was, yes.”

“Where?”

“Guys!” Yusuf interjected, stepping between the two of them, “Guys, look, we can all agree here that that didn’t go as smooth as it ought to have done, but come on! Sixty grand each, that’s amazing! We should be happy, not squabbling over who was or wasn’t paying attention!”

Cobb nodded along with what he was saying, as did Eames, whose smirk was resurfacing across his lips. But Arthur was still utterly incensed with frustration. 

His hands were tensing by his sides, his mind replaying the way Robert looked Eames with that licentious glint in his eyes, even the way he looked at _him_ with the same in order to suspend that unmistakably carnal energy between them in his effort to please them. And Robert did please - one of them at least - and Arthur had known that from the very moment he stepped back into that room.

Their eyes drifted apart as Eames glanced back at the table to look back on the money Yusuf had mentioned, and that’s when Cobb cleared his throat to divert the conversation away from its tense subject matter,

“Yusuf and I are gonna get the right stuff sorted for our next mark in a few days,” He said, beckoning to man to follow him while he stepped away from the table, “We’ll be going after another heir, the one Arthur wanted, so keep that in mind while you prepare.”

The two men stepped away and grabbed their shares out of the bag, leaving Arthur and Eames together to handle whatever their gripes were on their own. The door shut behind Yusuf and the silence between them drew out once more.

Eames’ eyes remained on the table while Arthur’s continued to glare at him. The former had to be the one to say something.

“I don’t know if you heard that, Arthur, but now that it’s your turn to choose the hostage, you’re gonna be well in for—”

Suddenly, Arthur’s hand slammed down on the table, a loud smack that managed cut Eames off from his sentence. Despite its intention, its effects weren’t intimidating in the slightest, and only ended up showing just how pathetic Arthur could get when he was angry. He let another second of silence stew while Eames looked at him expectantly before he finally explained himself,

“I know you did it, Eames, so don’t even fucking lie to me.”

“Then tell me what I did, Arthur, that has you so clearly annoyed, hm?”

Arthur scoffed and shook his head, steadying his breath with a calm exhale,

“You fucked that slut; Fischer,” He spat, his brows furrowing as he saw Eames stifle his chuckle, “You did! I fucking knew it! Goddamn it Eames!” He slammed his hand down on the table again, his attempt to be authoritative only making Eames raise his eyebrows and smile more, “You can’t even keep it in your pants for five minutes.”

“Come on!” Eames pleaded with him, joy dancing in his mischievous eyes, “He clearly wanted me- wanted _us_ even! He looked at you just as much as he looked at me, and you can’t say you weren’t liking what you were seeing!”

“The difference is, Eames, that I don’t let my cock rule my fucking existence! Some pretty boy bats his eyes at you, and you’re head-over-fucking-heels for him!”

“There you go, you called him pretty again!” Eames argued, finally letting himself laugh, his deep chuckle getting on Arthur’s nerves all the more, “All you’re pissed off about is the fact that you were the one who left the room, and I wasn’t.”

“For God’s sake, this isn’t funny. And no, it’s not.” His tone was serious, and the look in his eyes was just as much glazed with envy as it was fury, no matter how much he wanted to refuse it, “It’s not _just_ that you fucked him; you could have jeopardised the whole thing for all of us. He’s seen your face, knows your name and—” He stopped himself, gritting his teeth before completing his line, “And don’t think for a second that I don’t know what ‘ _No DNA being left behind_ ’ means… If he goes to the cops, you’re out.”

He took his share of cash from the table, snatching it out of the bag with unnecessary force. He looked like an angry child, one whose parent let his big brother get a treat but not him. The other man sighed and gave one last explanation, 

“The Fischers are so rich that a quarter of a million is _pocket change_. They won’t do anything because they don’t care, and they won’t say anything because it’s more effort than its worth. Why else would his father have given it over so quickly?”

“You mean his _Daddy_?” Arthur snapped, shoving the rest of Eames’ money towards him, “You better hope it’s just ‘pocket change’, because if it isn’t, you’ll need him to have actually liked you.”

And with that, he left him, following on from Cobb and Yusuf out of the safehouse, not wanting be caught unprepared for their next mark, especially after the events of that evening.

Eames just glanced at the table as the door slammed shut, back at the stacks of green he and his team had so well earned that evening. He smiled, almost over-joyed at the knowledge that Robert truly did like him, and that his offer to call him was most likely not feigned. 

The man’s file lay open beside the bag, Cobb neglecting to have picked it up on his way out for disposal. With slowness, gently taking his time to savour each image and document, Eames leafed through the pages, each glossy photograph shining from the bright overhead lights, every bit of information from where he was born to where he lived a joy to learn. But he wanted to learn more.

He’d fucked him, and usually for Eames, that would be that, and there would be no need for further contact, but there something in their last look towards each other; Eames needing to leave the room and Robert powerless to do anything but stay, when their eyes met and the two of them smiled, he wanted to be with him again.

Eager eyes scanned down the page, past his father and his family, past what addresses he lived at and what cars he owned, right down to the bottom to seek what he needed.

His phone number.

The ten-digit code stared back at him, sitting there on the page, knowing it was the only thing that was needed to reclaim contact with Robert.

Without second thought, Eames withdrew his mobile and saved it into his contacts.

Fischer had indeed been ‘tucked in’ by Mr Scott that night. 

Williams had left the house after he’d dropped the two men off; leaving with a disapproved muttering towards Scott about the _behaviour_ and _manners_ of the man they’d just picked up from the motel and a final concerned glance towards him and his glazed blue eyes. He drove away in the car the two had first rolled up in, presumably back to his home and his wife.

But Mr Scott had no intention of going back to his wife.

Not only because it was his contractual obligation as Fischer’s bodyguard, but because of the eager way Robert raced the two of them to his bedroom, tugging him by the wrist down the long hallways to eventually crash onto his bed, getting yet another man to use him for pleasure that evening.

It was only the third time he’d woken up in that luxurious bed with Robert, holding his waist tight, his back flush to his chest in a warm embrace as the sun peered through the curtains, and yet it felt just as natural as waking up beside his wife. But after years of working shifts at night, that was a rarity anyway.

Robert stirred not soon after him, slipping himself out of the sheets to step into his en-suite, turning on the shower to finally cleanse himself of the prior day’s mess. He didn’t take long, opting to keep it brisk to get himself ready for his morning plans, so when he walked back out and into his bedroom, the only towel he took being one to dry his hair, Scott couldn’t help but stare at his clean and naked form.

“Take me shopping today, Mr Scott, and I’ll treat you.” Robert said nonchalantly as he approached his wardrobe, glancing towards the open-mouthed man still in the sheets with a smirk. “Get dressed; Williams will be here soon and I’m sure you won’t want to explain why you weren’t guarding at the door.”

He walked into his wardrobe, dragging his fingers over the soft cloth of his shirts that were hung up on the racks in a colourful line up as he heard the security guard’s response,

“Well I’ll tell him the truth. That I was _personally_ guarding your room all night.”

Robert could almost hear his smile. With a skip in his step, he came back out of his wardrobe, clad in his lovely laced underwear with shirt and trousers in hand, both still attached to their hangers. 

“I don’t see you reaching for your pants, Mr Scott,” He said, giggling as he eyed the discarded clothes on the floor by his side of the bed, “I’ve got a big day today, so I expect you to be on guard with me.”

“Robert, you know that my shift finishes at 7am, and you know that my wife expects my back to take care of the house this weekend…”

The younger man draped his chosen clothes over a chair and looked back into Mr Scott’s eyes, his fingertips starting to trail across the lacy hem of his panties as he walked over to the bed, looking down at him with a pout.

“I’m sure my father won’t be too happy that his _precious_ son will be leaving the house unchaperoned after everything that’s happened…” He sighed, letting a smirk curl the side of his lip as the other man not-so-shamelessly let his eyes fall onto his underwear, staring at the curve of the fabric that held his cock. “I’m sure she’d understand, sir…”

The security guard’s eyes finally tore themselves away and up into Fischer’s, his pupils dilated wide. He extended his hand, grasping onto Robert’s hip and tugging him close to the bed,

“I’d leave her for you, Robert. You know I would.” He sounded frantic almost, his wide eyes conveying some sort of desperation, his tight grip urging Robert to fall back on the bed and into his arms once more.

But Robert just smiled warmly, pretending like that hadn’t already been said to him numerous times before.

“I’m not asking you to leave your wife, Luca. I’m asking you to put your pants on.”

Ten minutes later and Scott was showered and dressed too, the both of them walking out to hire a car that would drive them into the city. They stood in the foyer, Robert leaning against the wall with his foot on the skirting board, his arm swinging his purse back and forth while Scott watched him, twisting a pick between this teeth.

Silence surrounded them, not a single noise sounding throughout the entire house as they waited, and while it wasn’t awkward, the two of them mutually content with being in one another’s company, it was just too quiet. Neither of them said a word and only gave each another small smiles.

Scott was happy to spend the day with him, and Robert was happy that he’d agreed to do so. The latter was about to open his mouth to express that fact when the front door opened to make an entrance for Williams, his face just as serious as it had been the night before.

“Morning, Peter.” Scott offered with a short nod, straightening his face out to match his expression.

The man replied with the same greeting and looked towards Robert, whose small smile had turned into a smirk and a lip bite, arm still playfully swinging the long chain on his purse.

“Did you sleep well, Mr Fischer?” Peter asked him, not particularly caring if it was a yes or a no as he passively listened to the response, hanging his coat on the rack that stood beside Robert.

“Yes, I slept very well with Mr Scott,” He broke up his sentence with a weak cough, “ _personally_ guarding my room.” He grinned and stood up straight, looking at the two of them as they exchanged glances, William’s gaze expressing all of his suspicion.

“Well, Mr Fischer, I’m glad to hear it,” He said wearily, turning around to look at him, “Your father will be boarding a flight to L.A. within the next few hours and has instructed me to escort you throughout the day, should you wish to go out.”

“That’s alright, Mr Scott’s already agreed to go with me.” Robert said as he took his phone out from his purse, seeing that the driver had arrived just outside the house. “Thanks though.”

And he left with his security guard in tow, hopping into the backseat to drive to his favourite department store in search of a new outfit, the purpose of which hadn’t even been revealed to the other man.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, he twisted and turned his body, inspecting himself at all angles with a potential purchase of white trousers hugging tight to his waist and curves. Scott was just behind where he was stood, sitting on the sofa, holding the purse on his lap with his hand getting tighter and tighter around the chain the more aroused he became at the display.

“How do you feel about the fit of these?” Robert asked him, knowing that his smirk wouldn’t be seen with how focused he was on the lower portion of his body, “You like them?”

Scott nodded, needing to keep himself as quiet as possible to prevent anything unseemly slipping from his lips, especially in front of the assistant who was holding the next few pairs of trousers for Robert to try on. But the other man wasn’t having that as an answer.

“What do you like about them?” He pushed, smoothing his hands over the fabric, passing over the curvature of his hips and down his thighs, imagining how Eames would react if he saw them too.

“I like the fit, Mr Fischer, like you said.” He was barely breathing, something about the public setting making him overly conscious of how attractive he was and how imperative it was to not show what he was truly thinking. He took a deep breath, biting his lip, zoning out everything else around him to prevent himself from letting his thoughts slip out of him: that the way they made his arse look should be criminal, felonious, unlawful; how they shaped his legs and fell over his ankle a scandal to shock society; the way the tight hold made the fabric at his waist hug the flesh, as if they’d been perfectly tailored to just him, an offence so heinous he should be reprimanded for just looking.

He was deep in his thoughts, willing his stirred excitement to leave, when a phone rang.

And it wasn’t just any phone, it was the distinctive sound of Robert’s cell. Didn’t help that it vibrated either.

He fished it out of the purse, glancing at the screen to identify the caller, should it be his father. But it was a blocked number.

“Who is it?” Fischer still asked, tucking his thumbs beneath the waistband of the trousers to test their tightness, his heart pounding as he realised it could be the man he desired.

“Blocked number. I’ll hang it up.”

“No!” Robert protested, answering a little too quickly as he turned around, “I’ll see who it is, sometimes father’s men try to reach me…” 

He extended his hand expectantly, Scott unable to suppress the twang of jealousy that thudded his heart for a second at the idea of _other_ men wanting to contact him, even if they were also just security detail like himself. He stood up to pass it to him and then sat back down with a slump into the sofa cushions while he watched Robert answer it, running his fingers through his hair and biting his lip.

“Hello, this is Robert Fischer’s phone.” He said, trying in earnest not to giggle.

“Hello, ‘ _Robert Fischer’s phone_ ’,” Came the reply, the unmistakable voice of Eames, along with his light chuckle. “Might I ask what your plans are for this evening?”

“Yeah, you might,” Robert smirked with his words, resuming his stare at himself in the mirror, “And I might tell you that I’m completely available.” He noticed Scott’s interest pique from his expression in the reflection, but continued nonetheless, “Why, were you going to ask?”

“I was, yeah. There’s a new restaurant in the downtown area and I’ve got an extra seat booked with no one to sit in it.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone in time to fill that position,” Robert continued, smoothing the fabric over his thighs, “What time is it booked for?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“It’s a date. Send the address along, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

And with that, Fischer hung up the phone, trying (and failing) to calm himself of the excitement bubbling in his veins as he giggled and smiled, turning to Scott to throw back his phone.

“The fit, you said?” He re-asked, understanding the fact that his little call there had absorbed the attention of practically everyone in the room, including assistants.

“Yes, Mr Fischer,” Scott replied, putting the phone back into the purse, “And as your security guard, may I ask who that was on the phone just now?” Which was a very wise question to ask, considering the man it _was_ was one of Robert’s four captors.

“All of them _fit_ me, Luca; she’s brought me them in my size,” Robert said as he stepped off the pedestal, completely ignoring his question, “But how about the material?”

He reached forth to take up the security guard’s arm, lifting up one of his hands to land it gently his inner thigh, the tight fabric hugging the soft flesh. His fingers squeezed as they made contact; too light to be called possessive, but too strong to be considered reserved. He quickly realised that himself as he withdrew them, once again opting for professionalism.

“It’s soft. Get those ones.” He said, averting his gaze while Robert stepped back to the mirror to give himself one last check.

“Okay, but if he doesn’t like them, I’ll blame you, Mr Scott.”

 _That_ got his attention back.

“Wha—”

“Thank you, miss, and I’ll take the jacket too.” Robert said to the assistant, unzipping them to get back into his other clothes, letting Scott get one last look at his arse in those panties before he covered himself again with his original pair of trousers, which could almost be considered modest after what he’d just tried on.

Almost.

Eames arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early.

He almost felt underdressed the way that the surrounding patrons looked; men with their best suits on, their hair brushed back and faces cleanly shaved, women with their nicest dresses, their fine jewellery and shoes nice and neat to tie their outfits together.

A silk shirt and a pair of nice formal trousers was all Eames needed to look the part, perhaps even taking a jacket along if he felt like it was required. Though, there was a new addition to his style that had been a very recent purchase.

A Rolex, golden, shone on his wrist, its face that relayed the time only driving his anticipation for Robert’s arrival all the more. It was the first purchase he’d made that morning using his share, and while it did make a significant dent in his cut, it was worth it. Besides, they had another job tomorrow, he’d basically be breaking even within twenty-four hours.

So, contentedly sitting with the thirty grand piece sitting on his wrist, his eyes darted between his drink and the entrance arch to the room he’d booked the table in, having chosen a spot at the back of the restaurant to ensure that Robert’s entrance to the private hall would be unmistakable.

Little did he know that he’d be unmistakable no matter where he was making his entrance.

Escorted by a taller man and a waiter, Robert walked through the archway, one hand holding onto his purse and the other gently carding through his hair. He was radiant, immediately catching Eames’ attention as his eyes scanned over the tables, ignoring whatever the man at his side was saying at him. 

He was serene, unbothered, and calm; pretty much the exact opposite of how he seemed during their first ‘meeting’, if it could be called that at all. Then, by contrast, the man beside him seemed all the more concerned for what he was doing and where he was going as he walked towards the table with the waiter, making worried faces and vaguely concerned gestures with his hands, without Robert paying attention at all.

Of course Eames wasn’t to know the fact that the man was Robert’s security guard, _and_ that he’d been strung with jealousy since the moment his phone had started ringing, so when Robert turned to him for just a second, seemingly dismissing him, and the waiter, in an instant, his curiosity couldn’t help but be piqued.

Robert reached the table, flashing his smile brightly as he saw the shift in Eames’ gaze travel from his face and onto his body, the lovely trousers he’d purchased a few hours prior suiting his form exquisitely. He extended his right hand to be kissed, caressing his necklace with his other hand as he waited for Eames to stand up from his seat.

It took a second to register, his bewilderment at Robert’s beauty stunting his reaction by more time than it should have, but he eventually stood from the chair to gently take the hand in his own, smoothing his fingertips over the skin before carefully raising it to his lips, looking into Robert’s smiling eyes as he did so. 

He managed to spot those red marks that were still lingering on his wrists as the hand was withdrawn, and yet said nothing of them, just smiled along with him, knowing that the cause of them was clearly already forgiven and forgotten.

“I’m happy that you’re here.” He said to him as he re-took his seat, watching the other man slip the jacket from his arms to drape onto the back of the chair. Eames’ eyes widened and he quipped, “But I’m even happier you’re wearing that.”

Robert was wearing a white shirt with his trousers, fashioned with lace and cropped at the bottom of his ribs, sporting short sleeves on his shoulders that fanned like a flower. Its low neckline, starting a good few inches beneath his collarbones, gave a perfect space for his necklace to be displayed, glittering diamonds that would exceed the value of Eames’ new watch ten-fold, at least.

He grinned at the compliment and took his own seat, running his tongue across his upper lip as his hands settled on the table.

“You have no idea how glad I was to hear my phone ring this morning,” He said, raising his hand to bring back the waiter he’d only just dismissed, “But next time, you could do me a favour and _not_ block your number. My guy almost hung up on you!” 

Eames laughed with him and raised his brows,

“Your _guy_?” He asked, inclining his head to emphasise his presumptuous tone.

Robert was still smirking when the waiter reappeared at his side,

“Mr Fischer, we’ve found some of the best vintages for you, would you care to try some?”

Eames seemed impressed at the suggestion, looking back and forth between the waiter and Robert. He was well known in the city for a multitude of reasons, but Eames wasn’t aware of his reputation for restaurant going, not to mention his standing on fine wines.

“A martini is fine,” Robert said, rolling his eyes, “What about you Mr Eames?”

When those blue eyes landed back on him, his answer came out as fast as possible,

“Another Hennessy is good for me, thanks.”

“Right away, sir.” The waiter said, hurrying away to fulfil their requests.

Robert didn’t think twice before he snapped their conversation onto Eames’ last words, trailing his fingers across the fine tablecloth as he spoke,

“When I say ‘guy’, what I mean is my security,” He clarified, leaning his body over the table to add gravity to his words, “and when I say ‘security’, what I mean is a man that guards my house and fucks me sometimes.”

“Oh, of course, I mean, that was basically subtext.” Eames joked, lacing his fingers together to prop his elbows up on the table, hiding his smile behind them.

“Now, Eames, before we order our food, I have to ask you just one question.”

“Ask away.”

His heart thudded, because while he wasn’t exactly nervous about asking Robert out to dinner, he was the one who called him after all, he wasn’t sure where the evening would take them. Best case scenario the hotel room that Eames had booked would get some use, treat Robert to something a little more romantic than a motel, and he didn’t even want to think about what a worst case could possibly be.

Robert let out a little laugh to prelude his question, batting his eyes in the way that told him that he knew he was beautiful,

“Out of _all_ the hostages you’ve ever taken… Why call me back?”

Eames couldn’t stifle his laugh that time because it was a worthy question. He was right to ask, ‘why him’ and he was right to assume that there had been numerous hostages before him, so all he could say in response was,

“Because there’s something about you…”

The two held a stare after it was said. Robert knew what he meant, and that’s why he didn’t ask for clarification. He himself was sure that he was the only hostage who’d ever act the way he did, and Eames’ attraction to that was hard to put into words. 

Those blue eyes that had so quickly transformed from fear to seduction in that motel room at Eames’ first touch seemed to have an aptitude for switching their gaze with a single blink. When he’d sat down, Robert was lively, wide eyed and excited, but now, he was sultry and sensual, his teeth embedding into his lip.

He leant forward, mirroring Eames with his elbows propped up, and he cradled his chin on his palm. He blinked slowly. He smirked playfully. He giggled quietly.

“ _Something_ …” He echoed with a low whisper, sitting back in his seat the moment his peripheral caught side of the waiter returning to their table with the drinks.

He set them before each man, nodding his head before saying,

“Are you ready to order, Mr Fischer?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you should be addressing the man who booked this table, instead of his guest.” Robert said, tone laced with obvious condescension.

The waiter didn’t skip a beat before turning to Eames, who was acting modest by giving a small wave,

“We’ll talk over some options and come to a decision, yeah?” Eames offered, lifting up his drink. 

“Of course, sir.” And with that, the waiter left them again, Robert picking up his own glass to raise it along with Eames.

“To… ‘talking over options’.” He smirked, watching Eames do the same,

“To talking over options.” 

And the two took their first sips of their drinks, swallowing them down with the toast of a vague and ambiguous aim for their evening, an objective that could be interpreted too many ways to not lead them to the inevitable.

Robert licked his lips as he put his martini back down, returning his fingers to his glistening necklace, pushing his shoulders forward while he leaned closer. Light danced inside those diamonds and he played with it, the overhead chandelier, and the light of dusk streaming through the tall windows ensured that they were illuminated well enough. It was almost as mesmerising as his eyes and their beautiful twinkle, watching Eames’ every move.

The glass of Hennessey was put back on the table and Eames’ hands drifted onto his wrist as he asked,

“So, are there any options you’d recommend? They seem to like you here, know you, even.”

“I’m surprised that wasn’t the first thing you mentioned, to be honest,” Robert replied, caressing his fingers up to the ridge of his glass, “Or do you think that everyone in this town knows me?”

“ _I_ knew who you were, as did the other three, and I know that if I was that waiter, I’d want you to give you the best possible service in this place too.”

“Is that so?” Robert said, bringing his drink back up to his grinning lips, “Well, I’ll tell you that it has nothing to do with _my_ reputation and everything to do with my father’s.” He explained it with his soothing tone and blasé attitude, as if he didn’t care that Eames was consciously mentioning his other partners in crime, “I mean, I almost started laughing when you sent the address over because it just so happens that he bought this place last week.”

Eames chuckled at that, taking another gulp of his drink,

“So they ought to make a good impression on the proprietor’s son, then.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He said, looking around at the restaurant’s clean, white décor, “It’s a nice place and I’m glad he’s acquired it.” His next sip on his drink was coy, almost, the way he hid his gaze behind the glass before finishing his thought, “But what I’m more glad about is that my first unofficial visit to it is with the same man who held me hostage and collected a quarter of a million from him in ransom.”

The other man couldn’t help but choke on his drink, the way it was said with such nonchalance a shock to his system, but he collected himself quickly, running his finger beneath the loose collar of his silk shirt.

“You might want to keep your voice down, Robert…” He warned, his playful smirk and his low voice giving Robert incentive to save what he had to say, at least for until after they had eaten their meals. Still, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease.

“Or what?”

Eames cleared his throat, picking up his glass to swill the drink around. He said his words with his low, domineering tone,

“Or I’ll find those binds again.”

And that time, Eames was the one to raise his hand to get the waiter’s attention, Robert unable to save his lips from parting as he watched him take charge and eye up the waiter as he arrived, “We’ll have whatever the chef recommends, I’m sure he’d like to give Mr Fischer, here, his best.” He handed over the menus that neither of them had even glimpsed at, slipping Robert a wink that suggested he’d like to do the same.

That was the second that he convinced himself that he’d let Eames have him right there, in that moment, right over the fucking table if he’d let him. The hunger for his touch started to itch under his skin as the man smoothed his palms together and flexed his fingers, the same want that lingered in him as he’d left the motel, to be possessed and taken, forced down and pleasured.

His mind was wandering, and he wasn’t saying anything, only staring, fantasising, _wishing_ for Eames to tell him he’d booked a hotel room too. He could tie him up again, hands behind his back, force his cock down his throat and make him take it all while he sat on his knees obediently and-

“Robert?”

He snapped out of it, turning his wanton look into a smile, taking a sip of his drink innocently like he hadn’t been plotting out the way he was to be ravished that evening, with Eames’ intention or not.

“Apologies, Mr Eames, I was just thinking.” He deflected, biting his lips to imply just what about. But that didn’t stop Eames from pushing him to reveal.

“What were you thinking about, hm?” He smiled, continuing before even giving him the chance to answer, “About how _delicious_ and _delectable_ this _long awaited_ , and _specially prepared_ meal is about to be?”

“Yes, I was definitely thinking about that.” Robert answered, trying to remain somewhat decent with just a raise of his eyebrow and the lick of his lips. Still, his foot moved itself forward, the tip of his shoes touching Eames’ beneath the table, “You impressed me, Mr Eames. You and your team. You got my father to care about me for the first time in like, twenty-five years. Who knew that all it took would be a threat to my life?” 

“I’m glad I could be of help,” Eames chuckled, “Now I’ll be able to claim our actions were purely altruistic and we all did it for a lovely rich boy to get some of his Daddy’s attention.”

He was teasing him now, wanting to see that desperate look on his face again, see him react to everything he had to say with all its implication and purpose.

“Well, it actually seems now that I’m getting a little too much,” Robert sighed, touching the foot on the martini glass, “He got the first flight back from Sydney to see me and is making sure that my security comes with me wherever I go, _and_ wherever I will be going too.”

“I see,” Eames lifted his chin, reclining in his seat as his smirk subtly curled the side of his lip, “Best hope he’s not the jealous type then.”

“Oh, he is, Mr Eames, but that’s not about to stop me enjoying me evening, now, is it?” His eyes were heavy again, his dark eyelashes blinking lightly as he picked up his drink to take down the last gulp, lips shining with it before he chased it with his tongue.

The waiter returned to them soon enough, carrying with him two of the same dish, the food on each plate proportionally smaller than that which it was placed on; an obnoxious touch in restaurants of such standards.

“Entrée, is it?” Eames asked with a cheeky grin, Robert hiding his own bemused smile with his hand as he glanced up at their server, whose shocked face in reaction to the question showed his distress at potentially disappointing his diners. Robert just waved him away with an assuring smile, picking up his fork to dig into the food. 

With his baby blue eyes focused solely on Eames, the man not even touching his own cutlery yet, he raised it up to his mouth to land the forkful on his tongue, dragging it out through his lips, chewing slowly before swallowing. His moan of pleasure was purposefully sensual, as was the bite of his lip and the flutter of his eyelashes at him, and just as he had said twenty-four hours ago, he whispered,

“I think I could die happy right now…”

“Is that so?” Eames implored, slowly drifting his hand over to his fork.

“Absolutely.”

“But if you did, you wouldn’t see where I’m taking you after this, would you?” And he slowly sunk the fork into his food until the prongs met with the china to make a quiet ‘ _clink_ ’. “And you don’t want to miss that.”

Robert grinned and giggled, moving his foot further across to Eames’ trouser leg, almost caressing his ankle as he rested his chin back onto his hand.

“Can I guess?” Robert asked, eyeing the waiter that was re-approaching the table with new drinks.

They were placed down silently, their server once again wishing them a pleasant meal before he left them, and Eames took a bite of his food to nod and smile at Robert for permission to do so.

He arched his back with authorisation granted, the diamonds glittering and his soft hair shining, with those beautiful lips grinning widely at him as he whispered, “You’re going to take me to the best hotel in the city and pleasure me like no man has ever done before.”

There was a pause as Eames swallowed his food.

“Hm,” The man hummed, picking up his glass of Hennessey, rattling the ice on the sides as he swilled it playfully, “A very _educated_ guess it seems you’ve made.”

Robert was beaming now, and only leaned over the table more while his fingers touched the bottom of his martini glass. He wanted to continue, Eames could see it in his eyes, whisper out the most filthy predictions, roll them off his tongue as if it were any other conversation, hide his words in the sea of chatter surrounding them so that Eames, and only Eames, could hear his lewd and lascivious thoughts. 

Those teeth pinched at his bottom lip, wanting to restrain himself before he got too hot and bothered, lest he lost control and created another scandal that the tabloids could talk about for the better part of a week.

‘ _Son of Fischer Morrow’s CEO, Robert Fischer Jr., creates scene in father’s newly purchased restaurant._ ’ would be the headline, ‘ _Witnesses report his reputation for indecency wasn’t just celebrity gossip._ ’ would be the following tag, and the article would follow in the vein of Robert’s rumoured relationships with men within the city, many of whom belonged to bad crowds.

And Eames wouldn’t be any different from them.

His teeth let go of his lip. His eyes fell on Eames’ hands. His mouth quirked up with a smirk.

“You’ll bind my wrists again and splay my legs out on the mattress, fit yourself between them while your hands roam across every fucking inch of me. No time constrains, no pressures from your little friends, no hang-ups for the fact that I want you and you want me,” His foot was still brushing at Eames’ ankle, receiving the attention it finally deserved as Eames looked below the table at it, knowing it was itching to get higher, “You’re gonna fuck me, Daddy. I’ll beg like a whore, but you’re gonna fuck me no matter what.”

“And why’s that?” Eames re-joined, being coy as he took another sip of his drink, forgetting all about the food in front of him as Robert described a much more palatable experience for his evening.

“Because, Daddy,” Robert giggled, touching his fingertips to the crystals around his neck, “I’m your good boy.”

Eames might have been nursing a semi in his trousers, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to ask him to continue,

“Are you really?”

“Of course I am. I got all dressed up and ready for you, and with such short notice, too,” His hand slowly moved up the stem of his glass until he picked it up to take a large sip, “So what hotel is it? Chateau Marmont? The Biltmore? A Hilton?”

“Not got much patience, have you, Fischer?”

Robert shrugged and took another bite of his meal, grinning as the fork went into his mouth. “It’s a Hilton.” Eames said, noticing the glint in Robert’s eyes, excitement.

He quickly stood from the table, necking down the rest of his drink and picking up his jacket and the purse that he’d draped over the back of his chair.

“Let’s go then.” He said, slinging the bag over his shoulder and folding the jacket over his arm, looking down at Eames with his wide, expecting eyes. 

“Well, we would have to call for the bill first, Robert.” Eames said, leaning back in his chair with his elbow on the armrest. He raised his brows “Might I ask if you were considering… breaking the law?”

“Yeah, I might have been.” He said, opening up his purse to fish out a pair of sunglasses and a stick of gum. They were heart shaped, dark lenses and white rims, and he landed the piece of gum onto his pink tongue, folding it against his teeth as he began to chew.

“And I…” Eames began, taking pause to watch Robert fix the sunglasses over his eyes, “I just might go along with it.”


	3. Like Porno-Flick Bitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dining at one of the best restaurants in downtown L.A., Eames takes Fischer along to a hotel for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full line is _"I rip it, hardcore like porno-flick bitches"_ , and honestly, as soon as I saw that, it became law for me to have a fic of that title.

They walked out away from their table without a second look what they’d left behind, barely touched drinks and half-eaten food that at one time would have had Eames upset to waste, but with over thirty grand still left to his name and Robert Fischer leading him out of the restaurant with a coy little wave to their waiter, he gladly followed without a moment of protest.

Scott, who had been waiting by the entrance since being dismissed by Robert, stood from his seat the second he caught sight of him, buttoning up his jacket to appear more formal.

“Did you enjoy your meal, Mr Fischer?” 

“I did, yeah,” Robert replied, turning his head towards Eames, “Thanks, Mr Eames, you’ve really been so good to me this evening…” His voice had turned sensual once more, and with a gentle move of his arm, linked it with his, “You can drive us to the Hilton, can’t you, Mr Scott?”

It was a pity his sunglasses hid those pleading blue eyes, but the incline of his head and the smirk of his soft lips was enough to make the man agree to do so, not that he really had a choice in the first place. He gave Eames a tight smile and walked them out of the restaurant, Robert continuing to cling to the other man’s arm on the way out to wait for Scott’s car, quickly brought around by the valet.

He and Eames sat in the backseat, Scott in the driver’s and acting just as Williams had last night, dividing his attention between the road and the rear-view mirror, glad that Robert was somewhat controlling himself. He’d taken off the sunglasses, but the gum was still churning in his mouth, lips only inches away from Eames’.

His immediate jealousy towards Eames was unwarranted, completely and utterly unjustified, but as Robert’s hand slid itself across that man’s chest, slipping beneath the collar of his silken shirt to caress his chest hair, he had to speak up and distract the two of them before it escalated to something more.

“The Hilton, you said?” He asked, smoothing his hands across the wheel to dispel his pent-up frustration.

“Yeah.” Robert answered, not even looking up to see his worried eyes in the mirror. But Eames didn’t want him to feel like a third wheel,

“You didn’t tell me your guy was British too, Robert, that’s quite interesting.” 

“Born in Birmingham, yeah, came here a few years ago,” Scott said, unsure why he was engaging in conversation with the man who he believed he was in competition for Robert’s attention with, though he supposed it was a better option than the two of them making out right behind him, “I met my wife and I got settled down, so I never went back.” He said it with an almost lamenting tone, not quite regret, but certainly not joy.

“Mrs Scott is nice, she’s good company,” Robert said, inserting himself into the discussion, “He took her last name, you know, when they got married. He’s sweet like that,” He directed his gaze to the man he was talking about, glancing up to the mirror, “You really should go home to her tonight. How about you go see her after you’ve dropped us off, Luca, spend the weekend with her while Williams takes the shift?”

Scott wasn’t an idiot and he knew what two adults did in hotel rooms together, and yet he couldn’t help but protest,

“Nonsense, Robert, I’ll—”

“I’ll look after him, sir, don’t worry about it.” Eames reassured, lifting his hand up to caress Robert’s jaw, just as carefully as he had when they’d first made contact the evening before. The man keened into it again, just like before, letting himself be cradled while his own hand stroked across Eames’ chest, his fingertips still lightly brushing over the hairs, tracing the neckline of his shirt.

“You’ll deal with me, huh…” He whispered to him, resting his head on his shoulder, flicking his eyes up to the rear-view to see the bitterness in Scott’s brown eyes.

Relishing in the way that he was wanted, desired and coveted by Scott, he smirked playfully, pressing his lips onto Eames’ neck as their eyes kept their contact, teasing and taunting, making him an unintentional voyeur of his carnal spirit whether he liked it or not. The mere fact that his gaze was tearing itself away from the road to opt for a focus on Robert, that his knuckles had whitened on the wheel through powerless frustration, told him everything he needed to know; that Mr Luca Scott was practically in love with him. 

And he loved the idea of that more than anything else.

To be the centre of someone’s thoughts, their life and their feelings, their routines and chores, constantly in the back of someone’s mind. It was the attention of it all, the attraction to his personality drawing in an interest, that did it for him. And, to dangle that knowledge right in front of Scott’s face was just as good.

The car pulled up to the hotel entrance, and Eames gave the security guard a nod of his head in thanks as he pulled Fischer out with him, but Scott still took it upon himself to be responsible ad remind him of his father,

“Remember, Robert, that your father will be home in the next hour. He’ll want to see you immediately; it’s why he flew back so soon.”

“I find that hard to believe, Luca, I really do,” Robert giggled, holding onto Eames’ wrist, ready to be led inside, “But if he really cares, he can call me while I have a cock stuffed down my throat,” He smiled sweetly one last time at him and waved, “Go and see your wife tonight, I’m sure she’s missing you.” Then he shut the car door, not giving Scott another word, while walked into the foyer with Eames.

Then, replacing the sunglasses over his eyes with suave grace and coating his lips with a shining layer of lip gloss, he confidently took up Eames’ hand to approach the desk, being very bold despite his wish for anonymity.

“I like those. Frame your face well.” Eames said to him during the wait for the receptionist, not quite clocking Robert’s beaming grin in time as he turned his head to see her appear from the back.

Truthfully, that was what separated Eames from Scott. Where there was obviously a disparity between the time Robert had spent with the both of them, there was yet another difference between made clear with that little compliment. Eames would unabashedly praise Robert, only having two occasions to have done so and yet still ceased every opportunity for it, whereas Scott, who’d known him for years, let his own timidity rule his actions.

Despite him thinking, no, _knowing_ that Robert looked goddamn fine in everything he wore, his hesitance to confess that opinion was rooted deep in cowardice; through the fear of his wife finding out about him.

So, Scott may have loved him, but Eames actually admired him.

“Welcome back, Mr Eames, would you like your key?” The receptionist said to him, already opening the drawer at her side to find his card. He nodded and gave Robert a smooth side glance while he slid the shade to the tip of his nose.

He looked over the rims, letting his tongue play with the gum in his mouth before he asked,

“You’ve already checked in without me?” His innocent voice and doe eyes stared at him with feigned disappointment.

The receptionist slid the card across the desk without a single comment, and Eames hastily led him towards the elevator, murmuring,

“Of course, Robert,” He slipped the card into his pocket, “What if there was a hostage in there? I needed to check before I brought you.”

“Oh, obviously,” The other man jeered, nudging his shoulder as they stepped inside, looking at himself in the mirror for a second. The shades really did frame his face. “I mean, there wouldn’t be room for two of us, right?”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it…” He pushed the button for the fifth floor, leaning himself back against the wall to stare at him, the mechanical movement of his jaw opening and closing as he chewed, tongue running across the bottom of his teeth while he grinned at him.

It was the only noise save for the quiet hum of the elevator’s ascent, so with his eyes watching each number light up as they rode their way up, he broke the silence and asked,

“You ever fucked in one of these?” 

“Erm, no, no I haven’t,” Eames laughed, letting his eyes run up and down Robert’s form, lingering on the legs inside those white trousers again, wholeheartedly loving what he saw, “You?”

It dinged for their floor and the metal doors opened with a silent slide, revealing the long corridor.

“No, I haven’t.” He wasn’t making a move to leave, and neither was Eames, “Not unless you close the doors right now.”

Eames scoffed and tugged on his hand, leading him out and down towards the room,

“This is a five-star establishment with the finest beds and room service,” He smirked, “I’m not fucking you in a metal box.”

“Cleaner than the motel was…” Robert said matter-of-factly, shoulder leaning on the doorframe and eyes peering over his shades once more as Eames inserted the card into the lock.

“And so was that restaurant. You wanted me to fuck you over that table, hm?”

A shrug of his shoulders and a small giggle was the only answer Eames got from him. So basically a yes.

He opened the door and let Robert in first, relieving a light sigh as he followed, throwing the card, his wallet and his phone onto the desk. The second he looked up, Robert had already planted himself face down in the centre of the mattress, his face buried into the pillows, letting out a groan of fatigue. “Tired, darling?” Eames asked, leaning against the desk to look at him. His arse truly looked great in those trousers, especially from behind, and that cropped shirt giving his eyes access to the small of his back made him believe that he truly was blessed.

The man slowly flipped himself over at the query, savouring that little pet name, and he propped himself up on his elbows to spreading his legs out flat. The shades were whipped off his face and thrown to the other side of the king mattress, and then his purse and jacket went to the other. He shook his head.

“No, Daddy...” He whispered, giving that ever-lasting grin on Eames’ face yet another reason to stay.

“Well then, Robert, I’ll tell you the actual reason I checked in earlier today,” He stepped to the side, showing a box that’d been placed on the desk, “I’ve gotten you a little something…”

Robert sprung back up from the bed, taking the gum out of his mouth to toss it into the nearest bin with one clean shot.

“For me?” He asked, looking up at him sweetly as he approached the desk, his little smile of faux naivety and the batting of his eyelashes making Eames want to ravish him right there and then. But he did buy him the gift, after all, and he ought to actually open it before they did what they came for.

Eames nodded his head at the black box, Robert’s eyes following down onto it. He recognised the Chanel logo on the ribbon tied around it and grinned even wider.

He pinched the ribbon’s tail between his finger and thumb, flicking his eyes up to Eames’ as he pulled it back to unravel the bow and set the box free. His hand outstretched, sliding off the top to reveal the tissue paper the gift was wrapped in. He knew what it was from just the packaging, though the smell acted a confirmation.

It rustled beneath his fingertips as he lifted it to the sides, revealing the glass bottle of Chanel No. 5 laying within it. His favourite.

It took him less than five seconds to remember that it was exactly what he was wearing last night.

With Eames’ face being buried into his neck as he rode him desperately, their fast-paced carnality seeing to it that they panted heavily, it would have been a challenge for Eames not to have picked up the scent. The real skill lay in identifying it.

“You were wearing it last night,” Eames confirmed, brushing the white paper back further to get a glimpse of the shiny bottle himself, “Didn’t take long to find it, sure as hell didn’t take me long to buy it either.”

Robert still hadn’t said anything, the only noises coming out of him faint squeals held back by his wide grin, and his hands dove right into the box, taking it out of its tissue bed to open it up and refresh what he’d already laid down when he’d left the house that morning. “You like it, don’t you? Tell me you like it…” Eames said, catching the aroma as the mist was sprayed, Robert looking into his eyes with adoration,

“I love it.”

And then he pressed his lips onto Eames’, the minty freshness from the gum still lingering on the tongue that darted into his mouth, the floral smell of the perfume wafting between them as they moved in synchronicity; Eames shifting his weight off of the desk and onto Robert, his knee finding itself between his thighs as he tackled him back onto the bed.

His hand let go of the bottle, discarded beside his purse as he relocated it onto the back of Eames’ neck, pulling him closer with ferocious passion, moaning against his mouth to deepen their kiss.

Soon enough, their hands found themselves roaming to each other’s clothes, unfastening belts and unbuttoning shirts, kicking off shoes and tugging off underwear until the two of them were naked, stark on the sheets, the way they hadn’t had the opportunity to be last night.

Eames pulled away to look into his eyes again, missing them for the few minutes they were shut, seeing them just as lustfully wide as he’d seen them before. “Tie me up, Daddy…” He said, smoothing his hand over the other man’s bicep, feeling the strength beneath his fingertips, longing for its exertion upon him.

So Eames got himself up and off of the man who a day ago had no choice in the binding of his hands, exploited just for his father’s wealth, and now treated to the luxury room he way laid in that very second, using that money. He stepped back to make a reach for the white ribbon still on the desk, and it was just then that Eames’ phone started ringing. 

Like Fischer’s, it was on vibrate, though lacked a distinguishing tone. Still, the two of them heard it, shaking itself on the desk urgently, as if the caller trying to get through could be more important than what was about to happen on that bed.

He glanced over at the screen and said one word.

“Fuck.”

Arthur’s name displayed itself above the two options; accept and decline, green and red, ruining the mood and saving it.

“It’s ok, Mr Eames, answer it…” Robert said, shifting himself back into the sheets to splay himself across the pillows, watching Eames do what he should. He pressed accept made sure his sigh was audible as he brought it to his ear,

“I’m in the middle of something important, Arthur, can’t this wait?”

“I don’t know, Eames, is it more important than the team briefing we had scheduled for ten minutes ago?!” Arthur hissed down the line. He always did that; hiss and expect Eames to accept his argument and then _not_ completely ignore him and ridicule him for it.

He looked back at the bed where Robert was lying, beautifully naked and ready for him, reaching for his purse.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. Reschedule for tomorrow morning.” He whispered back, watching the other man rifle through the bag.

“Well, Eames, _as a matter of fact_ , we _can’t_ , y’know, considering how the job is tomorrow morning!” Eames was about to mention that there’s no reason why he should have known that, but then quickly put together the fact that that would have been mentioned in the brief. “What the hell are you doing? Where are you?”

The questions seemed to go into his ear and out of the other as he stared back at Robert and what he was doing.

He’d been digging around in that tiny purse of his to stash his sunglasses back inside while he took something else out, something Eames had presumed would be his phone to distract him from the mood killer that Arthur had inflicted on them both. But, it was another thing entirely.

With all his graceful nonchalance, Robert was slicking up his fingers with lubricant, gotten from a tiny bottle he’d apparently been carrying around with him all day. He’d noticed Eames’ stare, as well as his half hard cock, and began teasing his tight little hole to give him entertainment while enduring his call.

Arthur had repeated the questions twice again, and it wasn’t until the third time that Eames was actually able to register what he was saying, and then in the shock of it all, blurted out the truth,

“I’m at the Hilton hotel in the downtown area with Robert Fischer, and I’m staring at him on the bed while he prepares to finger himself for me.”

Robert put one in at the sound of that, his giggle melting into a deep moan as it breeched the rim, sinking in as far as his second knuckle before starting to move it.

“Liar,” Arthur spat, calling him on bullshit, “There’s no fucking way.”

“Well, you’re right there, Arthur, because he’s actually started now.” Eames retorted, barely able to keep a straight face, resisting the urge to touch himself at the sight while all the blood in his body rushed south. Instead, he quickly snatched up the ribbon from the desk, and slowly crawled onto the mattress, breathing heavily.

“I don’t believe you, where the fuck are you?! Tell me, Eames, or I swear to Go—”

“I’m on the mattress right in front of him,” He relayed, grinning as Robert slipped in another and moaned louder, “And there goes a second, surely you heard that?!”

“So, let me get this straight,” Arthur started, his tone laced with scepticism, “You’re at your apartment, alone, jerking off, and you think it’s funny to play the noises of your porn down the phone? That’s real funny, Eames, really.”

Eames laughed, imagining that sad possibility instead of what was right in front of him; the most beautiful man in the world fucking himself with his wet fingers just to give him a sight to see. He smirked, not that Arthur could see it, and said,

“You hear that, Bobby? My friend here doesn’t believe that you’re here with me…”

Robert knew what he wanted, and he was all too happy to oblige in giving it to him.

He thrust his fingers in faster, harder, deeper, and let out another vocal moan along with,

“Oh, Mr Eames! I want you to fuck me! God, Mr Eames, I’m so _wet_ for you!”

And Eames had to start touching himself at that, barely stopping the phone from slipping from his fingers as he held it loosely by his ear, hearing,

“Goddamn it. That’s him, that’s his voice! Eames, what the fuck are you—”

“Arthur, I think I’ve been, ah, pretty clear about that, now can you leave me the fuck alone?” He said, wanting that to be their last words before it was absolutely necessary to see one another again the next morning.

“You should invite him over…” Robert joked with a whisper as he drew his fingers out, shifting forward and leaning down onto his knees, placing his hands onto Eames’ thighs, looking up at his cock as he jerked it in his palm.

“You’re a fucking asshole. Don’t be late tomorrow.” Arthur warned, still holding on the line to hear Eames’ retort,

“No, no, Arthur, you’re, ah, getting confused. I’m going to be _fucking_ an arsehole. Which part of that wasn’t clear?”

Three beeps ensued, marking the end of their phone call.

Robert just giggled at him, smoothing his hands over the hair on his legs as he looked up, his eyes unmoving while he threw the phone towards the rest of the discarded items on the mattress, still stroking himself with slow and careful passes up and down.

“Well, I could have guessed who _that_ was—”

Eames grabbed a fistful of Robert hair before he could finish his sentence, pulling his head down further to bend him beneath his cock, pulling taught on it and disallowing any movement. Robert breathed out a hot little exhale in reaction to it, his eyes lusting for the force and his mouth eager for his dick, salivating at the prospect taunted above him.

“Get that ribbon.” Eames commanded, slowing his palm enough to tap the head on his cheek, a subtle action that had Robert moaning and closing his eyes as his hand aimlessly grabbed for it, holding it up for him and reopening them, knowing a simple bat of his eyes would grant him a reward.

And it did.

Eames smoothed the tip of his cock across those wet lips with a single brush before letting go of both it and Robert’s hair, sliding the silk band out of his hand to pull it just as taught as he had with his locks. “Down.” He said, his instruction registering clear enough, Robert shifting forward, planting his face in the sheets at Eames’ knees. “Hands behind.” And he obeyed that too, crossing them on his back without a word.

The ribbon was much smoother, softer, silkier, than the rough cloth they’d used last time, and as Eames caressed those red marks, laying the band over them, looping it around both of his wrists once, twice, then thrice, fastening it neatly to restrict him, he sighed. Perfect.

He inclined his head up, eyes silently begging for permission to come back up, but no such allowance was made. Eames’ hand returned to his hair, carding gently through the locks until they formed their grip once again, pulling him back slightly, cheek still firmly on the mattress, his mouth practically drooling in anticipation.

His own cock gave a twitch as the other man pushed it against his lips once more, barely breeching past them, just whetting his appetite for it, not that he wasn’t already ravenous. “What do you want, Bobby?” Eames whispered, noticing the way his hands tensed and untensed with impatience.

“For you to use my pretty little mouth, Daddy,” He confessed, his lips touching it as he spoke like light little kisses, “Will you?”

“Open.” 

As soon as Fischer let his jaw go slack, Eames pushed himself inside, pulling his hair for the back of his throat the meet with the head of his cock in one fast strike. He gagged, but didn’t splutter or choke, taking it diligently, leaning into it as he became acclimatised to the force, his own dick already fully hard, just as it had been the first time Eames had used his mouth.

He moaned, a pleasant addition to the wet noises of the cock thrusting in and out, sliding between his velvety cheeks faster and faster, Eames’ grunts expelled after every other drive. His strong hand tugged hard on his hair, the spike of pleasurable pain shooting through Robert’s scalp eliciting more groaning, cock leaking now, standing to attention and neglected of friction. “You like that? Hm?” Eames commanded, staring down at face with its tear stung eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Uh-huh!” Robert moaned around him in response, barely getting the noise out with the next thrust jabbing deep. His effort couldn’t be ignored, and he was rewarded with a breath of fresh air.

A thin string of spittle connected Eames’ wet cock to the other man’s tongue, not bothering to break it as Robert drew in his ragged breaths, remaining obediently pressed into the mattress. “Thank you, Daddy,” He panted, feeling his dick ache at his own words of subservience, “Give me that cock!”

It was tapped back on his face again, the wet slapping noise against his hollow cheek giving him a reason to start whining and whimpering, wanting it returned to him after only a few seconds of withdrawal, “Give it to me!” He pleaded, blinking his damp eyes and reopening his mouth, “Give it to me, Daddy!”

“Aren’t you just the prettiest little whore, hm?” Eames praised, grinning, his hands playing with the man’s hair, “Are you desperate for it? You want it?” Robert nodded and leaned into the hand on his scalp, keeping his mouth open. “Suck it, then.”

Robert’s breath hitched with excitement, but he didn’t hesitate for a second before moving his head up to let it fall off his cheek, licking up the base before managing to engulf it half-way down.

Hot and wet and tight, his cheeks hollowed and drew upwards, relishing every single inch on his way up and the subsequent descent, shaking his head to open up his throat up and get it as deep as possible. When the bush of pubic hair from the base of Eames’ cock was brushing on his nose, tickling the very tip while he tried to concentrate, he smiled around him and giggled, which was enough to make him need more air.

Eames didn’t reprimand him for it; it was endearing to see him smile for any reason, and he simply guided that head back down with a gentle push, Robert fixing his lips on the head again to slide back down, using his tongue to trace along the underside and get his taste and texture, savouring every single bit he got down.

When starting his bobbing rhythm, salivating all over him, Robert shifted on his knees, the head of his own cock getting the briefest, momentary contact with his stomach as he did so, surfacing a little noise that Eames caught a hold of. “You want to be touched, my boy?” He asked him, already reaching for the lubricant with his free hand, still guiding Robert’s head with the other.

The man lazily nodded around him, letting out an affirming hum. Since his eyes were closed in concentration, he only expected Eames to make a move for his cock, to stroke him out like last time, but instead, he heard the well-recognised click of that bottle opening, then the quiet rub on fingers as they were slicked up.

At that point, just one finger inside of him would have definitely seen him coming, and he was sure the other man knew that too, which is why he when he reached over and smoothed his hand across his cheeks, he put in two at once. 

Of course, they were thicker than Robert’s own, stronger, and more calloused, so as they stretched him out, commencing with a scissoring motion, Robert’s throat couldn’t help but open wider around his cock as he groaned, eventually opting to shove it into his cheek in order to give himself an airway through which to whimper,

“Ah! Keep going, Daddy, don’t stop!” He cried, encouraging Eames to plunge them in as deep as he possibly could at that angle, tracing the walls with keen presses into the muscle.

But unfortunately, it seemed that the more attention Eames was giving that tight little hole, the less attention Fischer was giving to the cock in his mouth.

Eames forced down his head unexpectedly, unapologetically, to shove it back into his warm throat.

“You wanted it, Bobby and now I’m giving it to you. Don’t be an ungrateful little slut.”

Those simple words had him coming on those two fingers in lightning speed, shooting his load between his thighs on the mattress, ripping out a deep groan with his face still buried in Eames’ groin, subtly bucking into the air as it spilled out of him.

Eames saw it all happen, his beautiful and unbridled reaction, and he smiled, satisfied with his work, drawing out his digits and pulling his mouth away too. Though he was anything but finished.

He pulled on his hair to force his chin up, looking down into his hazy eyes.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Robert slurred, licking his lips slowly to catch the saliva drippling out, “Thank you…”

Eames said nothing and only made a move for the ribbon on his wrists, unbinding it to Robert’s immediate dismay,

“What are you—”

But Eames forced him onto his back with a push before he could finish his thought, swiftly grasping at his arms to raise them above his head, tying them back up to the headboard before pulling his legs apart, setting them over his hips. 

“I’m splaying your legs out to fit myself between them,” The explanation echoed Robert’s desirous monologue at the restaurant, Eames having taken multiple mental notes during their dinner, “And now I’m going to roam across every inch of you until you’re screaming to come again.”

Robert’s dick gave in interested twitch at that addition, ready for round two. He pulled on his arms, secured tight with the ribbon, and spread his legs even wider to give Eames more room to settle between.

At first, his hands made their place on Robert’s chest, passing over that smooth expanse with his hard nipples just sitting there, begging for a touch. His fingertips circled them lightly, Robert’s back arching nicely to the sensation and even more so as his mouth quickly replaced them, gently sucking and biting until they were a lovely pink, the other man letting out his subtle moans, wishing he could just hold his head as his tongue lapped across him and embrace him tightly to ensure his efforts were continued. But, he supposed his legs were good enough, and crossed over Eames’ back to keep him nice and close, desperate for him to stay for longer.

But he eventually moved on, and for the better too, trailing a path of wet kisses all the way down his abdomen, across the junction of his stomach and his thigh until he’d reach his little prick, half-masted with a pink flush of its own. He rutted up into the air in a reflex, seeing Eames’ tongue wet his lips in preparation. 

His calloused hands moved to Robert’s inner thighs, stroking, not saying a word as he deliberated his action. He had to time to think it through this time, which was a privilege he wasn’t going to pass up. He could choose different options, or even do everything he wanted, so he weighed up the possibilities and choices, coming to one that Robert would equally love and hate him for. 

He lifted up those slim legs right over his shoulders, cupping his arse to bend him upwards, and darted his tongue out to give the first, defining, wet stroke across his hole.

Fischer’s whole body shuddered at the sensation, toes curling and thighs trembling as Eames gave him another, and another, and another, before he was eating him out in full, using his tongue to his best, shoving his whole face between his cheeks to let his stubble scratch the skin, delightfully tickling that sensitive hole with purpose.

“Oh, fuck yeah…” Robert moaned, throwing his head back in the pillows and letting his eyes fall shut. He sucked at his lip to endure it, cock staying hard against his stomach again with a longing for contact, breathing out, “Touch me…”

Eames didn’t think twice before raising one hand up to jerk his little cock, feeling the tense of his muscles at the moment of contact, like a static shock of pleasure routing through his system, desperate to chase it as he bucked his hips into his hold, whining through his teeth for more.

“Will you be a good boy, Bobby?” He murmured against him, the tambour of his voice giving him delightful vibrations, “And patient too, hm?”

“Uh-huh!” He moaned in compliance, not expecting the harsh slap that Eames gave to his arse,

“Then stop being a greedy little whore and wait.” 

Robert nodded desperately, obeying, not speaking up again unless for a ‘Daddy’ or a ‘fuck’, muted in breathy whispers until Eames drew back, satisfied with his work. Though, as he rose back up between the other man’s legs to gaze back down on him, he didn’t hesitate for a minute to slip his fingers inside again, this time gaining enough leverage to reach his sweet-spot in a single drive and tear out a broken moan.

He pistoned them in and out, readying him for what he had already been prepared for, for no other reason than to tease him, to let the anticipation stew inside of him and feel just how longing he was for that cock to be there again, to fuck him into the mattress and let him come for the second time. 

With each drive, each deep hook and strong curl of the fingers doing their work, probing him and massaging him with keen awareness, Robert thought it’d be the last, and then Eames would pull them out to start with his dick instead. But then he said just one word,

“Beg.”

Robert snapped his eyes open, looking at the devious smirk across Eames’ lips, “Go on. Like a whore, you said it yourself.”

Robert wasn’t one to grovel. Ever.

He would usually always have approval and a ‘yes’ from people by just existing. He would get anything he wanted the second he wanted it after a bat of his eyelashes, maybe a cute smile or a kiss on the cheek, so to hear him to say, to expect him to do that, really was shock. Why should he have to beg when he looked that irresistible?

But of course, it was true, he had indeed said that, right over the dinner table at one of the finest restaurants in downtown L.A. towards the very man between his legs in that moment. But he _also_ said that he’d be fucking him no matter what. So he tried to push it.

He shook his head, his hair flopping across his forehead, the diamond necklace shaking around his neck.

All Eames could do was widen his eyes at the audacity of his refusal. In his mind, Robert had made his bed when he let the words slip from his mouth, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make him lay in it.

He pushed his fingers deeper, pressing into his prostate, his fingertip moving minutely. He felt the clench, heard the whimper, and saw his arms pull down in his binds, his back arching into it to gain more stimulation, but that was as much as Eames was willing to give. “You said you were my good boy, Bobby,” He was right, he had, “And you said you would beg like a whore,” Again, he had, “And you _said_ that you weren’t tired,” Also correct, “So why is it that you think it’s ok to be such a little brat for me?”

Indeed, the question had no answer, other than the fact that Robert would never deign to beg to anyone when he knew he was deserving of what he wanted, and in this case it was Eames’ massive cock. He gritted his teeth, taking in a sharp inhale while he bucked his hips into the air again, pursuing the movement that he had grown impatient of not one minute ago.

Eames cleared his throat as if he wasn’t being heard and began to draw them out, resting at his knuckle as he repeated his inquiry, “Why?”

“I want it, Daddy!” Robert whined, earning him another nice slap on the arse,

“You’re a spoilt little boy,” Eames degraded, pulling his digits back further so that only the tips remained, “who needs to learn some manners. So, before I leave you here all tied up for someone to rescue you… Beg.”

One more frustrated groan and the imprudent shake of Robert’s head had Eames taking them out entirely, leaving him empty as he leaned over him, his looming stature making him cower back into the cushions. He was getting off on the authority and Eames knew it, but what good was the authority if he wasn’t going to buckle beneath it?

Robert inclined his head to the side, innocently blinking his wide blue eyes at him, pouting ever so slightly to ease the punishment the other man was bound to give for his insolence. His large hands reached up to feel at his bound wrists, the smooth, pale skin indented by the tightness of the ribbon, and trailed them down his arm, past his elbow and across his bicep, following the curve of his shoulder to ascend his touch on his throat, until he landed at his jaw.

He tilted his head, moving it side to side while inspecting every inch of his face; the doe eyes and the fresh rosy lips, the cute nose and his flushed cheeks. He remained silent all the while, a calculating quiet that had Robert breaking his silence,

“What are you doing, Daddy?” He whispered, lifting himself up to bring his face closer, parting his lips to entice him to fall into a kiss. But that wasn’t why Eames was staring.

“I’m deciding.” He replied, tilting his head one last time to the right before he centred it again.

“Deciding what?”

Without a word, Eames slapped him on his right cheek, a harsh sting tingling beneath his skin. Robert gasped, his cock twitching, reminding him of his longing to be touched, and he let out a giggle, arching his back into him. “Fuck, Daddy…” He breathed as he recuperated from the force, rubbing his cheek against his arm to diffuse the light pain.

“Do it.”

He should have trusted his instinct not to talk that way in the restaurant. He should have saved it and thought about it instead. He also should have obeyed Eames when he was first asked.

With a sigh that could have been equally heard as a moan, he finally pleaded,

“Please, Daddy…” Stringing it along with a playful grin, hoping that would be enough as Eames began smoothing a hand over his torso again, taking his dick up in his hand. But he made no move to commence. 

“Please what?” He tried him, gripping his hands to his ribcage, feeling it rise and fall with each of his breaths.

“Please fuck me!” 

His words were frustrated, irritated even, at the fact that he had to implore for what he thought had been thoroughly earned on his behalf, and yet he repeated them again just to be sure, “Please, please, _please!_ ”

A contented hum was given to him in response, and Eames took a hand away to reach back for the lubricant, squeezing out a generous amount to slick up and down his cock . He jerked himself for just a few seconds, seeing the passion in him blaze, subdued only by the restrictions placed on his wrists.

He shifted to line himself up, the thick tip of his cock pressing at his rim, still refusing to enter.

“No time constraints, right?” He asked with a light chuckle, watching him salivate at the prospect of fucking all night, because if just ten minutes in that motel room had him fucked out and crazy, what could a few hours do? 

He was just as eager to find out as the other man, so without further hesitation, he pushed himself in, feeling that initial clench, that tight heat envelop him, hearing his high-pitched whimper as he reached his hilt, seeing the eyes stare back at him, ravenous for more.

His hands reached back to his thighs, securing them around his waist, caressing the skin as he stayed there, breathing deeply with him to share the moment before he prepared to start moving.

And with each part of him that Eames laid his hands on, every inch of his skin, every curve of his body, he became that more sensitive to it, anticipating the _next_ one, wanting even more of it. So, as those fingertips ran up and down his thighs, tracing lightly over the smooth skin, he felt just as much ecstasy as when his palm was on his cock. 

He breathed heavily with him, open mouthed and longing, wide eyed and eager.

But a familiar noise, one he’d already heard unexpectedly once that day, rang in the silence. His phone.

He groaned and then laughed, throwing his head back into his pillow at the unbelievable timing of it, cursing that he hadn’t left it on silent.

“Ignore it, I’m not waiting another fucking second for this.” He smirked, shaking his head at his own idiocy. But Eames didn’t share his attitude.

He was grinning too, but for a different reason.

He fished it out of Robert’s purse, expecting it to be either his security guard or someone equally as subordinate, but who it actually was made him grin even wider.

 _Father_.

“You let me answer my phone, right?” He said, barely starting to move himself, but doing so just enough that Robert could catch the sensation, “So I’ll let you answer yours.”

And so Robert, thinking the same as Eames had, that it would be Scott or Williams or anyone else just checking up on him, nodded and bit his lip, believing this scandalous little moment wouldn’t be hard to pull off at all. Eames grinned and accepted the call, holding the phone up to Robert’s ear as he dipped his body down, burying his face into his neck.

“Hello, this is Robert Fischer’s phone…” He managed, luckily choosing to speak just before Eames slowly thrusted, which forced him to bite back his moan, however light it was.

“I think I should know my own son’s phone number. I’m the one who called you.” His father replied, instantly frustrated before he’d even breeched the subject of what he wanted to say.

Eames felt the heat creep under Robert’s skin while he pressed his lips to his neck, tasting the smell of his perfume, relishing in just how hot the idea of the whole thing was. 

He could tell from the way his breath hitched that that was the very second the fact began to sink in, that he was going to have to endure a phone call with his father while another man was nine inches inside of him. It wasn’t just a reaction to Eames’ soft lips on his skin, but rather one to his father’s impatient huff down the line.

“I- I didn’t see the caller, I just, uh, picked up.” Robert explained, leaning his ear into the phone to hear him speak, Eames slowly adopting a pace that made him reconsider whether it was even worth it to keep quiet.

“Robert, I want you home this instant.” Maurice said, commanding and callous, the impatience in his stern voice an unignorable tone.

“No chance.” Eames whispered against his neck, chuckling at the man who had just been robbed of a quarter of a million, and who’s son had his legs spread wide for the very man who did it.

“Why?” Robert breathed, only capable of that singular word as the tip of Eames’ cock pressed into his over sensitive sweet spot, forcing him to bite back the moan he longed to release.

“ _Why?_ ” His father echoed, “Because, Robert, I’ve just been on a plane to Sydney for ten hours, to arrive where they tell me that my son has been kidnapped, whereupon I hastily pay the bastards off to let you go, then I fly _back_ for another gruelling _aeon_ of time, for you to _not_ be here!”

“Uh-huh…” Robert said to disguise his moan, only half-listening while he focused on the wet tongue that had started to lap at his neck, the lips sucking at him gently, just to test how well he could deal with being in hot water like that.

“Couldn’t get a word from Scott, and Williams is pleading ignorance,” He told him, Robert imagining him behind his desk in his study, snapping pencils as Luca remained loyal and Peter truly had no clue where he was, side eyeing Scott with his usual disdain. “So, Robert, I think it’d be best for you, right now, to leave wherever you are, get in an Uber, and hope to God you’re here before ten o’clock.”

“I’m busy right now.” Robert protested, arching his back to a particularly strong stroke Eames gave with his cock, bringing his mouth away from the held up phone to moan into his arm before returning,

“ _You’re_ busy? Robert Fischer, my only son, whose only reputation in this town is that of unspeakable acts, is the busy one?” He was seething, and Robert could vaguely hear that in his voice; the disappointment, the exasperation, the irritation, but then he softened, sighing with fatigue, “Well, whatever it is you’re _occupied_ with, it’s ending right now, do you understand?” 

But Robert was still hardly listening and didn’t reply, and most of what his father said just passed right over his head as he endured the pleasure of Eames’ cock, closing his eyes to bask while his father spoke at him. But his last words still managed to get his attention, “Look, just don’t disappoint me, Robert. I’ve sacrificed a lot to be here for you, so I expect you here soon.”

Then the phone was hung up on him and Eames switched it onto silent and flung it across the mattress, not taking his mouth away from the other man’s neck as he slammed himself in with the strong force that he’d been waiting to use, then he paused to mumble against his neck,

“Will you? Go home after this, I mean.”

He was being torn between what could quite possibly be the best fuck of his life and the potential of the worst lecture he’d ever receive from his father. He didn’t give a shit what his old man thought about him, and he was quite sure the feeling was reciprocated, but deep down, he really did hate to disappoint.

“What time is it?”

Eames lifted his head to glance at his Rolex. He laughed,

“Nine-thirty.” 

Definitely not enough time for him to get to the house, even if Eames did take his dick out of him that second. 

“Fuck it.” Robert said with his cheeky smirk, “Just fuck me, Daddy…”

And Eames wasn’t going to ignore that request. He lifted himself up between Robert’s legs, hooking one of them over his shoulder to draw back and thrust in sharply, finally getting the deep moan from Robert that it warranted, his open mouth letting his pink tongue hang free just over his lip, glistening with spittle.

“You’re my special boy, aren’t you, Bobby?”

Robert nodded and bit his lip, eyes steadily becoming heavier and heavier. There had been a blush staining his face for a while, but that’s what I took for Eames to notice it; a beautiful pink cheek to compliment the wonderful blue of his irises. He blinked and let his eyes drift onto Eames’ abdomen, the muscles flexing as he picked up his pace. “You’re so beautiful like this, I could keep you here forever…” He said, digging his fingers into the flesh of his thigh, “My beautiful little slut, Robert Fischer, ready to be fucked at my disposal. You’d like that I bet.”

“Yes!” He yelled, his volume no longer of anyone’s concern, “I’m your good little bitch! Fuck me!”

“Mm, and I bet you want me to touch that little prick of yours too, don’t you?”

His nod couldn’t be any more enthusiastic to answer the question, tugging on the ribbon for good measure, his longing eyes staring back up at him again. When Eames didn’t make a move, he knew what was expected of him, this time coming out easier,

“Please touch me, Daddy, please!” He begged, thrusting up into the air to let his dick gain some traction, seemingly abandoned since Eames had taken his mouth away too, “Touch me, touch me, touch me!” He chanted, finally relaxing back once Eames’ palm was reintroduced, feeling the hot slick of his pre-come smear across his skin with each little jerk.

“I think you’re going to come again, Bobby…” Eames observed, twisting his hand up and down, adding pressure towards the head, “Do you think you deserve to?”

“Yeah!” Robert whimpered desperately, his body needing another release, “Make me come, Daddy!”

“Oh, it’ll feel so good, won’t it?” He goaded, quickening his wrist, jerking him faster than his own thrusts, “You’ll come all over Daddy’s hand, spilling it all out to make a great mess of yourself ‘cos you’re my dirty little whore, hm?” Robert was nodding and whining, just waiting for the word, waiting for the okay to climax for a second time and let his over-stimulated cock pump his release out onto his stomach, “This tiny cock is only good for one thing, and that’s coming for Daddy when he’s told you to, isn’t it?” His thumb circled around the head, rubbing the pre-ejaculate around the slit to tease him harder, feeling him throb, ready for release, “So it’s going to feel so, so good, when I finally let you, Bobby, because you want it so bad…”

“Please, Daddy, please, I’m begging you!” Robert broke out, not sure he’d be able to hold on for himself, let alone for Eames, “I need- I need it!”

“You need it, do you?” He said, hitting his prostate with an angled thrust, “Go on then, show me how much you need it.”

With permission granted, Robert only lasted one more stroke before his body was rushed with the force of his second orgasm, his legs shaking while he screeched and let it out, clenching onto Eames’ cock that rode him through it.

His eyes blinked open as the afterglow started to buzz, Eames’ satisfied grin coming into view, his hand wiping its palm on the sheets once before returning to his waist with a strong grip to fuck him with more power, “That’s my good boy,” He praised, grunting above him when Robert clenched again, “So tight for me, Bobby…”

“Will you fill me up again, Daddy?” Robert mewled, rocking his head on the pillow with Eames’ pace getting faster, “Will you let me have it all so that when I go home I’ll still have you dripping down my thighs?!”

That question itself nearly had Eames finishing on the spot, the prospect of Robert in conversation with his father, potentially about where he had been that evening while his spend slowly leaked out of him, as it must have last night, was quite possibly one of the hottest scenarios he’d ever thought to dream of. And the kicker was, he was in control of whether it became true or not.

Robert giggled into his moan again, probably thinking about the same thing, but on his end instead, and then spoke up, “Fuck, just to have your hot come inside of me is so good, Daddy, but if I could leave with it again and then finger myself clean in the shower at the thought of you…”

God, he was so close to it, his steadfast grip on Robert’s leg getting stronger, sure to leave bruises that’d raise queries the next time he wore shorts as daring as he had at their first ‘meeting’, not to mention the hickey on his neck and pink mark on his cheek. 

“Go on.” He commanded, ready to welcome the climax that was to be advancing on him in just a short few moments. 

“Just do it, Daddy! Make me your good boy and fill me up!,” And again, he realised what it would take to compel him to do so, even if it was his intention anyway, “Please, I need it! I won’t be ungrateful, I’ll keep it all, Daddy, please!”

“God, I’ll see that lovely arse of yours in those tight trousers again, and know it’s in there, won’t I?” Eames pressed, thrusting faster, half of his words cut off by his deep grunting and heavy breathing. Robert nodded, sucking his teeth every moment the head of his cock met with his sweet spot, urging Eames to continue, “You’ve made Daddy so proud, tonight, I think you deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yeah! Give it to me!”

Eames slapped him across the face again for that, just as his orgasm began to approach. The connection of his palm to his other cheek forced out a sharp gasp from Robert, his spent cock giving another interested twitch at the feeling, being over-stimulated and soft, and yet still needlessly desperate for more pleasure.

“Manners.” Eames reiterated, prompting Robert to shriek,

“ _Please!_ ”

And right then, as Robert clenched and tensed, moaning deeply, his lungs trying to catch the breaths that were escaping him, Eames came inside, squeezing his fingers tight into his thigh, resting his cock fulling immersed within his heat as he emptied himself out.

Robert’s legs saw to it that he was kept inside for the moments after, crossing his ankles around the small of his back as he collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily into his neck. “Thank you…” Robert breathed, feeling his rapid heartbeat against the other man’s chest, his pulsing veins still coursing with lust, knowing he’d be ready for more as soon as Eames said the word.

But he couldn’t. 

Because no matter how much his father ignored him, looked down on him and met him with constant dismissal, Robert knew that he had indeed sacrificed meetings and agendas just to be there for him. So he had to go home. 

Eames lay there for another second before picking himself up and carefully easing himself out, reaching up to untie the ribbon around Robert’s wrists. The second the hands were free, they immediately clasped to back of Eames’ neck, pulling him close and into a gloriously deep kiss, where he could moan and breathe into him, love the delightful scratch his short beard gave over his mouth and hold him with his own hands with purpose

When they pulled away, his thumbs lingered on the other man’s jaw, carefully caressing as he whispered,

“I’m sorry I can’t stay…” And he pressed himself against him, resting their foreheads together as they caught up on their breaths. His hands drifted down to his shoulders, past his arms and onto his wrist to trace the face of his Rolex, “But I suppose it’s always one of us that leaves the other in a hotel room…”

And they shared a laugh, and Eames shifted off of him, parting his legs one last time to see his work, that stretched open hole not yet oozing a drop, his release was let out that deep. He smirked and slipped off of the bed, tossing Robert his clothes as the man looked back at his phone.

‘ _22:14_ ’, The display told him, along with, ‘ _Father: 3 Missed Calls_ ’, and ‘ _Father: I’m still waiting._ ’.

He let out an exasperate sigh and put it back into his purse along with the bottle of lube, then took his shades back out to wear for exiting the building.

“Has he told you what he wants?” Eames asked him while his slipped into his trousers, not so subtly letching at him slide on his lace underwear, up his legs and over his cock, confining it back into the tight silk.

He wondered for a second whether he knew that they looked too tight. He also wondered if that was the point. Either way, it made his smile.

“No, because as usual, he likes to keep everyone on their toes before he finally makes his speech,” Robert smirked, pulling his crop-top over his head, “Y’know, I’m not involved with the business at all, but I’m convinced that no-one knows what the plan is until _he_ shows up. I bet the Sydney office is _dormant_ right now, and I’d put money on that.”

He hopped off the bed to put on those trousers of his, stepping towards Eames as he buttoned up his shirt. He was perfectly, obviously, and brilliantly seductive about what he was doing, stepping both feet into the legs before slowly pulling them up over his arse, smoothing it out before zipping up the fly.

“Well then, I hope it goes alright for you,” Eames said, sliding his hand round Robert’s waist to pull him close, “Do you want me to call your cab?”

“Wow, what a gentleman…” Robert replied, only semi-sarcastically as he made a reach for both his perfume, “Put this in the box for me? I’ll hire an Uber.”

Eames took the bottle with a grin, turning around to nestle it back amongst its white tissue paper, folding it gently before replacing the lid of the box. But it wasn’t completely back in its packaging. 

As Robert got his phone back out to hire himself a ride home, Eames took up the ribbon from the pillow that’d been beneath Robert’s head to tie it back around the box, the bow he made not nearly as neat as it once was, but still there nonetheless for him to take away. “It’s sorted, it’ll be here in five minutes.”

“That’s fast!” He exclaimed as he passed the box to the other man, who tucked it beneath his arm while unfolding the arms of his sunglasses.

“’ _And it’s not the only thing._ ’” He replied with a wink, setting the shades over his eyes as he turned around for Eames to follow, which he did as soon as he swiped his wallet and card from the desk, not forgetting his phone on the bed either.

When they stepped back into the elevator, Robert couldn’t help but lower the glasses to the tip on his nose again to stare at him, then quickly dart his eyes over to the emergency stop but suggestively. “Not too late…” He said as the lift began its decent, slowly lighting the numbers up for the way down.

“No, but you are already,” Eames countered, leaning back against the wall again, “So before I make a bad impression on your father for…” He searched for the words in his head, choosing to put it obscurely, “ _Keeping you out past curfew_ ,” The elevator dinged for the ground floor and the doors opened, “I suggest we leave with haste.”

He grinned as he gestured for Robert to exit first, who only rolled his eyes before pushing the shades back onto his eyes and stepping back out into the foyer. 

“Sure, he’ll be fine with kidnapping and theft, but keeping his son out past bedtime?! _Strictly_ not allowed!” Robert mocked, taking up Eames’ hand in his own again as they left the building to stand out on the street for the hired car.

Of course, the city never lay dormant, especially at night, so the blare of traffic and the bright fluorescent light of the street lamps didn’t exactly aid in creating a romantic atmosphere, and yet, there was something about the warm twilight evening and the few speckles of stars in the sky that couldn’t be beaten by the light pollution that drew the two closer together.

Robert leaned in, letting his waist once again be cradled by Eames’ hand, resting right on the small of his back beneath his jacket to stroke the soft material of the waistband.

“Tell me that I’ll see you again.” Eames said, resisting the urge to slide his palm south to grab his arse one last time.

“You’ll see me again.” Robert told him with a smile. And he actually meant it too. “But you’ll have to give me your number if you want _me_ to call _you_ …”

So, Eames laughed and relayed his digits as Robert tapped them into his phone, quickly putting it back into his purse once he was done, looking over the rims of the glasses to let him see his blue eyes again. “And now we’ve both gotten what we wanted, right?”

“Right.”

A car pulled up to the curb a second later, noticed by the two of them in their peripherals, understanding that this was the moment they were to part ways. Robert pulled him in for one last kiss before slipping out of his arms and getting into the backseat. Pity the tinted windows concealed the small wave off farewell.

Eames arrived at his apartment after taking his own ride away from the hotel, checking out as soon as Robert left him with no explanation to the reception staff. It was better that way; more vague, less hassle, even if they did ask questions as to why.

He flung himself onto the couch when he got in, kicking his shoes off as he lay down, cheek on the cushion with a wide smile stretching his mouth.

His remaining stacks of just under thirty thousand dollars sat there on the coffee table right in front of him. And that reminded him that it wasn’t too late to call Arthur. Not to apologise, _fuck_ no, but just to get the information he needed for their next job.

It was all good income, after all, but with the speed he’d become accustomed to burning through it, he was only as good as his last work, so tomorrow, he would have to do what he did best, and collect his decent sum at the end of it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening up his messages to give Arthur a little heads up before he called - infinitely _more_ courteous than how the other man has been - but before he could even think about how he was about to structure his text or what he was going to say, he got distracted.

Because at that moment, one had just come through from Robert.

‘ _Should I save you in my contacts as ‘Mr Eames’, or ‘Daddy’?_ ’

Definitely the latter.

Robert was still five minutes away from home as he sent that message through, smiling smugly as he put his phone back into his purse, getting out his lip gloss to freshen up what he’d laid down before. He pressed his lips together, thinking about the next time they could touch Eames’. Or any part of him, really.

The ribbon was being rubbed between his thumb and forefinger, the smooth silk kinked and creased from usage, which only made him smile wider. Holding the box on his lap was nice too, heavy with the weight of the glass bottled perfume, a kind he truly had surplus, but with this one, carrying with it the sentiment of Eames’ purchase, it was made special.

He’d told him he’d found it after smelling it yesterday. He must have gone through an entire store to find the exact one, even if No. 5 was a bestseller. He lifted his wrist to his nose, giving it a light smell, those vanilla overtones with its the floral hints powering the sweet aroma that he would forever associate with Eames.

The car pulled up at the house, right by the front entrance with its large double doors. He got out, thanked the driver, then watched him drive away before even turning his attention to that door.

His grip on the box was tight, not out of anxiety, but out of anticipation, mind turning with what he was going to say in excuse. He could tell the truth, only lie by omission and relay that he was, as suspected by his father’s presumptuous tone, at a hotel with a man, but he could neglect the fact of who that man was.

He raised his hand to rest it on the door handle, tapping his foot on the ground as he prepared to enter, but the moment his fingertips brushed against the ornate brass curl to pull it down and step past the threshold, it opened for him.

He’d been spotted on the security cameras, because of course he was, and so there would obviously be a guard who would open it for him. But it wasn’t the one he expected.

Mr Scott was the one who opened it up, looking down at him with an expression of worry, frustration, but most of all relief. He had another toothpick in his mouth, which he’d clearly been viciously chewing, going by the state of the splintered wood. He sighed heavily, as if his shoulders had just been relieved of massive weight, and let him inside, offering to take the box from his hands, saying,

“Welcome back home, Mr Fischer,” He was being too formal. His voice was a little weak, and his eyes scarcely looked away from him. He took the box out of his grasp, “Your father has been waiting for you in the dining room for half an hour.”

“Hm,” Robert shrugged, relieving this torso of his jacket to hold it over his arm, “And what have you been doing?” He made his inflection one of curiosity, passing him the purse too.

He knew that it too smelled of the perfume, and he knew that he loved the smell of it just as much as Eames did. He saw his eyes strain as the scent hit him, fighting with himself not to raise it to his face and embed his whole nose into the fabric, to just inhale the aroma imprinted with the memories of every intimate moment with Robert that'd replaying in his mind, just like they always would.

“I’ve been here, waiting, in case you called to be picked up.” He replied, lowing his hands by his sides to keep the beautiful smell away from him. He watched Robert smirk and shift to walk away towards where his father was, but Luca caught his arm, lowering his voice to a whisper with his eyes keenly penetrating those baby blues, “I was waiting, and I didn’t tell him. I was concerned, but I didn’t tell him.”

Williams emerged from the corridor adjacent to the foyer that second, forcing both men to shift their stares unto him, Scott quickly taking his hand away which only made the situation seem all the more suspicious.

Robert didn’t say a thank you, or even offer any sort of acknowledgement for the favour Scott had done for him, and just said,

“You can put those in my room.” before he walked away, slipping his hands into his pockets as he passed Williams and made his way towards the room Scott had told him he was in.

The corridor was long, walled on one side with ceiling high windows to a patio, reflective of Robert’s confident gait as the bright lights shone to illuminate the place. He knew that his father would hear his footsteps, the heel of his shoes clacking on the floor, so he wasn’t shocked to see him looking directly at him when he made his entrance to the dining hall.

He was sat at the head, a plate in front of him with food, presumably the dinner he hadn’t managed to pick up before his flight, since he’d never deign to take it on there. It was untouched, the cutlery still neatly positioned either side of the placemat. 

A twinge of guilt surfaced in Robert’s heart for just a moment at the idea of his father being so worried that he hadn’t eaten, but the second he noticed another plate, holding an identical dish to at the seat on the opposite end of the table, he realised it was because he was merely in wait.

“Sit, Robert.” His father said, bracing his hands on the table’s edge, nodding his head towards his designated seat. 

Twelve feet apart? For a conversation like this? In Eames' words, _no chance_.

Robert strode forward, taking his hands from his pockets to brush through his hair before he reached his place. With his neutral expression staring back to the face of his father, he swiped the cutlery from the table with one hand, and with the other, held onto the edge of the plate.

He was purposeful with his volume, and while maintaining eye contact, he started to walk beside the table, dragging the plate across the wooden surface, scraping the finely varnished mahogany with the ceramic base, shoes clicking on the floor, until he reached the seat right beside him, where he ought to have been put in the first place.

The cutlery clattered as he tossed them back onto the table, the floorboards scraped as he pulled back the chair and the feet thumped as he tucked it forward again.

“I’m here,” He said, brushing down the creases in his cropped shirt, evening out the kinks in the lace. “You wanted to talk, right?”

Maurice was seething, and unlike on the phone when he was barely listening, he could actually see it in his expression. 

“You’re being immature right now, Robert,” He told him, his stern voice a clear tell that salvation was no longer a possibility in this matter, “But you’ve forced my impatience, and I’m not even going to give you the chance to cool off. Clearly, you think you’re being treated unfairly and you’re choosing to be bitter about it. You will listen to what I have to say.”

A pause ensued, Maurice allowing Robert to process the words and still give him a chance to say his peace before he spoke again, which was an opportunity his son had to cease,

“You interrupted my night for this?” He sounded sceptical almost, as if his father was so unbelievable to call him back to the house for such menial reason, it had to be a play or a joke, “Couldn’t have left me a message on my phone? I was busy!”

His father slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the knives and forks, shaking the glass of wine that was situated beside his plate. But his anger wasn’t from a place of distaste like Robert assumed,

“I’ve been worried _sick_ about you, and you think that hanging around with other men, who do God knows what to you, is more important than that?!” He growled it out, working on no evidence to presume Robert’s activities, but saying them anyway, while also remaining conscious of the staff in the house despite his volume, which had made his son finch at the initial noise.

Robert said nothing in response because he didn’t know how to think. Last night, it was proven to him that his father cared. That night, it was proven to him that his father was concerned. Both of those things had been expressed in ways wholly different, but both had the same effect on him. Shock.

Tired after that outburst, Maurice reclined back into his chair, resting both hands on the armrests, sighing deeply, “Look, son, after the call I received, and after the day I had, the least I could ask for is for you to be here when I ask—”

“The day _you_ had?” Robert countered, exaggerating the early shock and fear he had felt during the first half of his kidnapping, “Which one of us was gagged, cloth bound, and thrown into the back of a van, _Maurice?!_ ”

“And who’s the one who paid for your safety!”

“The same one who should be expected to do that as my father!” Was the lightning fast rebuttal, the pleading in his voice to make him understand, to make him _feel_ how in doing that, it didn’t make him the best man in the world, and never could. 

If he didn’t approve of his lifestyle, Robert could deal with that, if he was resentful he had to support him and house him as a young adult, Robert could deal with that, but what wasn’t acceptable, what _wasn’t_ something he could deal with was his claim to magnificence for doing the bare minimum.

This time, Maurice was the silent one, biting his tongue as Robert continued, “I’m fine. You know I’m fine. I was having an amazing evening, and yet you _still_ feel the need to control where I am and what I do while you’re here.” He stood up from the seat, not even offing a glance towards the food that’d been prepared for him. “You’re having dinner? Eat it by yourself.”

He turned around and walked out of the room, hands back into his pockets and head held high, back down the corridor and into the bright foyer to spot Williams, stood by the door despite his shift having ended hours ago. Robert wasn’t even approaching the door and yet was still told,

“Your father’s told us you’re not to leave the house in the evenings unless actively chaperoned by myself or Luca.”

Robert didn’t even respond and only rolled his eyes as he ascended the curved staircase, skipping every other one to get to his room as quick as possible, call Eames and blow off some steam before he went to bed.

Only two days of knowing this man, and he knew they had a connection. Just two days, and he was drawn to him to have more. He could get in there, pick up his phone, hear his voice, and smile, because he needed it. And he was sure the cheeky bastard would make him beg for it this time. 

He opened the door to his bedroom, but before he even saw his purse, he immediately clocked Luca, sat, perched on the edge of his bed, framed by the baby blue drapes hanging off the top of the four posters. He looked up the second Robert walked into the room, toothpick gone, but expression remaining the same.

He’d placed the box, the purse, and the jacket on the vanity, but still chosen to remain inside the room to avoid beginning his night’s shift. Robert opened his mouth, just about to inquire after his purpose in there when he knew how much his father could get on his nerves,

“Luca—”

“Listen, Bobby, I need you to listen to me, because what I’m about to say isn’t a joke, okay?”

That made him stop his train of thought. He shut the door behind himself and walked towards the bed, standing above the man whose desperate stare was one to pay attention to. He was going to let him say his piece.

He grabbed Robert’s hands first, stealing them from his sides to encase them in his own, clutching tightly, “You need to know that I’m going to leave her.” 

Robert nearly retracted at the words, the shock to his system that it was, but he remained where he was stood, silent as he continued, “And it’s for you, Bobby, because after today, after yesterday, after what you’ve been through and what we’ve done together, it’s made me realise how much I need you.”

“Only just, huh?” The other man couldn’t help but quip, taking it as a joke despite being specifically told it wasn’t. He raised his brows in expectation of his reaction, but Scott continued as if he hadn’t said a word,

“I want you and I need you, and it pains me to see you upset and angry in this house, so if you were with me, we got together, fuck, got married even—"

“Got married?!”

“We could be happy together is what I’m saying. You love being with me and I love being with you. Broke my heart to take you to the Hilton, but I did it anyway because it makes you happy and all I care about is that smile!” Scott explained, weakly smiling himself at the thought of it, lowering his hands to grasp onto his waist, pulling him closer, “She doesn’t make me happy, _you_ make me happy, so please, just, please, Bobby, please tell me that you will!”

And he pressed his head onto his stomach, tenderly embracing him around his middle, desperately keeping him close. As if by instinct, Robert comforted him with a hand on his nape, gently stroking his hair, trying to find the words. Simple ones seemed to suffice.

“I can’t.” He said bluntly, and it wasn’t for another few moments until Luca brought himself away to stare up at him, eyes glazed with sorrow,

“Why?”

“Because—" He tried to begin his reasoning, the justification why he couldn’t do that with Scott, just run away with him and live an idyllic life for the rest of his years but wasn’t sure if he could even admit it to himself.

“Because what?!” Luca urged, “We’ve made love, Robert, we have, and you’ve called me things, done things to me, _told_ me that you love me! So, why can’t you do that right now?!”

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, his dark eyelashes blinked, and his legs buckled, dropping him on his knees on the floor to look up at Scott. He sighed, trying to express to him he was sorry more than anything else, and that he wasn’t cruel, this was just something he truly had no control over.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. He loved that Luca loved him, but it wasn’t his duty to reciprocate. He loved that Eames loved him, and that was a pleasure to reciprocate. So, he just said it.

“Because I think I love someone else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading :) Check me out on [Tumblr](https://100dabbo.tumblr.com/)! Kudos and comments are always appreciated ♥


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